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Wednesday, February 24, 2021
We don’t have love,
we have pain.
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If we are all made of atoms,
Our shamefaced concern
We don’t have love,
With everyone on board
For the ear tests words
No one leaves home
As I ride out into the wide open spaces
Design in nature is but a concatenation of accidents,
And this felt good to Cora,
Our killer’s back again
Identity itself
God in his heaven
The greedy and the generous have the same end.
When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon an...
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About Me
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A man who knows neither how to travel or how to keep a journal has decided to keep this travel journal.
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