ListographyMy life in lists: it's called listography, with goals and names and facts and my bared soul, lists scrawled and sketched, scraps tossed out like debris,Listography
and strewn around the room. Parts of a whole, lists make up who I am, my self revealed with goals and names and facts and my bared soul.
With time and effort spent, it's lists I yield. Lists make me; I make lists. The words are scratched. Lists make up who I am, my self revealed.
And there with letters, numbers, so mismatched, with drawings, cut and paste, all unrehearsed, lists make me; I make lists. The w
Motorcycles and PhilosophyI used to speak in words of the memories that I caught and the motorcycle riding (was that merely in a thought?) with the wind against me, helmet on, the leather clothes I wore, (oh, I swear that I remember) they were tight against my skin and I got too warm and sweaty, yet I couldn't help but grin and ride away (I'm certain!) with a laugh and with a roar.Motorcycles and Philosophy
I used to talk in words of the things I'd not forget and the running that I'd done (which I surely don't regret); that's the exercise I needed and the exercise I got (oh, I know that I ran daily) when I'd nothing else to do,
