The best is to
jump,
with just a
hope
that you'll be
caught.

Being on the brink
of love.

I have to set aside the poetry for now so that I can blog about RSS feeds for the learning 2.2 program I'm taking part in (which is why I created this blog in the first place).
It goes without saying, I suppose, but, man, there's a lot out there on the web. I've been browsing through the top 1000 sites on bloglines to find some interesting things to subscribe to. It's a nice thing to be able to stay on top of so much information so easily, but I'm always assailed by this suffocating feeling of information overload--I need head space to have my own thoughts and to create my own works.
You can view my public subscriptions on bloglines with this: http://www.bloglines.com/public/brandon25@cox.net

Love found
too
late.

You can
only watch.

A reflection
on the
water
of a bird
flying
away.

The left ventricle
of the
human heart
stores our loves.
The right
stores our
pain.
The left atrium holds
our hope,
while the right
dreams up ways
to die.

Through it all
the blood courses

and we suffer
the tides.

Pieces put
together.

Pieces in their
place.

Pieces missing,
pieces gone,

for good,

for ever.

Outlines now.

Lives made up
of lives

and deaths.


Pieces of each other.

this is Cold Mountain

in me

desolate
wondrous

Cold Mountain

rock and snow
green
golden light

leaves fall
leaves grow

Cold Mountain

time turns to love

and back again
here

All those pretty children
who grow up wrong.
Become
the fucked-up.
People with problems.
People who:
never find love,
miss their dream,
go nowhere,
get lost,
feel awkward at parties,
hate themselves,
want to die,
die.
All pretty little children
who never did anything
wrong
and turned out wrong.
Bye-bye, kid.