Tag Archives: the inexorable sadness of pencils

The Bridge at Midnight Trembles

You walk into the room With a pencil in your hand… – Bob Dylan, Ballad of the Thin Man .. You ask it a question or two and you hope it knows some things and that it might sing if … Continue reading

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Smudging our Fingerprints on an Infinite Sky

.. I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils, the pensive nature of the quill. The quiet pink will of the eraser, longing for things unsaid; the pull of paintbrush over parchment skin. We write reams and plant dreams in … Continue reading

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