to lucha, with love
leaves are raining
out my window
they are soaring down, not falling
cold gold cinders
summerenders
sky is smoky
birds are watching
temperature dropping
winter waiting
You’re currently reading “howling quiet,” an entry on house of nezua
aighmeigh
10.14.08 / 6pm
It’s very interesting to read this side of you. Your words inspire me to dig deep to find the writer in me again. It’s been a long time, but when I read I tend to remember what it felt like to create…
nezua
10.14.08 / 9pm
thank you. thanks for reading this side, too.
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i’m a fly in the blouse of god. i’m a flake of fishscale in the house of nod. i’m a deep sleeping sprout that she snuck in the soil just before the weedkiller saturated the sod.
(Also see here.)
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