"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


Well hello there everyone. I apologize for the week-long absence from the world of blogging, but apparently my house was giving off wireless interference and Comcast had to shut down my Internet. Yesterday they finally came and fixed it, so here I am.

This is a poem inspired by the recent passing of a friend of mine whom I knew since the fourth grade. This is the end result of a lot of different (read: unsuccessful) attempts to write something about it.

Dusk, a drive-by
And a salute.
Memorialize where he lived,
Not where he lies,
And the crickets sound.
The epicenter of an insect hurricane.
I tell myself he’s still here,
That this must be his doing,
But I don’t believe me.
I know the truth;
Saw it with my own eyes,
Cold and still.
Expected an image
Burned into my brain.
Isn’t that how it always goes?
But instead
I faced reality,
And emerged unscathed.
No lasting impression,
Just a memory,
Set to fade in time
Until the crickets
Sound off again.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Animals, The House of the Rising Sun

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