Whistling…you either can or you can’t. There’s no middle ground. * * * I was about 10 years old when I first heard the question, “Son, what do you want to do when you grow up?” I knew without even thinking…. all I ever really wanted was to be able to whistle. It’s a tough …
We live and breathe on top of a rock, A furnace aflame at the core. The time is passed in carving stones That we leave just to carve some more. Carving stones and getting stoned, Milestones every day. Stones for walls and graffitied pedestals And Stones to roll away. We don’t give much …
maybe it’s the age or the stage i’m in but it seems strange with so many words our messages remain muddled. much said, volumes read, little solved. consensus cowers, dangles like limp laundry suspended on a back-yard clothesline. constant chatter signifying nothing. everything, talked to death. even Lazarus opts out, been here, …