Life is a soft whisper of love, a reminder of the dream of being a blade of grass, a snow flake in April, a grass-hopper resting on a gravestone of a person that we forgot that we even loved.
There is still time. There will always be still-time. Time is made out of baby teeth. Time is made of dandelions. Time is made of words and letters and numbers and so many chaotic fragmentations. Time allows for beauty. The man-made human clock allows for the possibility of natural honesty.
Fall back to innocence. Fall back asleep. I do not own time. There is no such thing as MY TIME. Fall back asleep. Just fall…
Adventures In American Writing 
Wow, wanted that second paragraph to go on for quite awhile..
yeah that was from this material where I was writing about social problems around my area, and how they were closing down the public schools and moving the graveyard where my grandfather was buried in order to build another shopping center, and the piece was really angry, and I really don’t like writing angry anymore, but sometimes it pours out. So after about six pages of just cynical banter, well I was like that isn’t me. I stopped typing and just breathed and ended up with this. Could be longer but sometimes I think you can only write as long as the lungs can breathe. But thank you. That’s the first time in a long time someone said something about my paragraphs being too short, Usually people are hyper critical about my paragraphs and prose being too long winded. ha. have a good one.
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