January 18, 2020
By T.M. Moore
There is, I know, some benefit in this,
this cycle of emerging, breeding, dying-
so brief a time for knowing any bliss,
or making friends, or new endeavors trying –
only to bring forth offspring which will know
a dark, damp, subterranean home for years,
September 9, 2019
My soul clings to the dust. Ps. 119.25
How like the dust my soul can be. I see
it sometimes, dazed and inattentive in
a ray of light, or settled in a thin
coat on a table, waiting languidly
to be wiped off. It falls in easily
with just the slightest breeze or passing wi...
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