

BoulevardIt was early morning when I ran home. The city followed after me with echoing pavement calls and I crashed head long into a night so delicate it broke against my bare skinBoulevard
I don't know this city
In the breathless chill of almost-dawn I gathered up the shards of shattered dark and pocketed them
I don't know you
How long it will take for my fingers to worry them smooth? For new night to pass over the memory of this one
in waves so that like sea glass, it will lose its shine and jagged edges but not its novelty; not its co


DARK: June 8th, 1997James.DARK: June 8th, 1997
They were just sitting there, glittering like jewels in the afternoon light.
Bright blue, Aegean blue, the plastic prescription bottles sat in the medicine cabinet next to half-empty bottles of Aspirin, multi-vitamins and new can of shaving cream. I had never seen blue bottles before, just the dated orange-brown that had contained an endless stream of Zoloft, Effexor and Prozac. These bottles were different, special, the only unguarded pills I had seen in two years. They were meant for me.
They had my name on them, if I were to speak figuratively. The literal name inscribed on them was


The Second Letter HomeI didnt know that autumn never comes to cities. Sweet September cant gild the pavement or paint telephone wires brass and goldThe Second Letter Home
like it would an oak or maple tree
The only hint of time passing is the dampness and
the swiftly falling dark of cloaked evenings
How could the mornings be blue and bright when car exhaust settles in the canyons between edifices and corrodes the metallic taste of dawn frost; of chill, clean air?
I want just one breath of October; one sigh full of the changing skies.
xo!
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an antique arms and armor expert
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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Feel free to visit my gallery
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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www.MollyBrewerStudio.com
My Sketchbook Blog
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www.MollyBrewerStudio.com
My Sketchbook Blog
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