What is worth when weighed in the eyes of some other? And what be if those eyes are absent? What then? The reflected eyes above the sink? They are not always the kindest pair. Not mine. Not to me.
Author: bruceduluoze
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 12.2.18
‘Tis here. Again. Dreary weather. Aggressive commercialism. Synthesized prerequisites for communal happiness. And all the wonderful reminders of your own loneliness, a fear in perpetuity. Bah humbug, as said the classic holiday scapegoat. Not the green furry one. The one that’s pretty much C. Montgomery Burns, but in England and more covered in coal dust.
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.25.18
There was a note this morning. Left from myself. Orange paper, stuck to the desk. It read, “it is good for a poet to wait in the rain.”
The Veracious Facade 