figthingwindmills.blogspot.com

Fighting the Windmills

Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Sunday, January 4, 2009. Slowed b...

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Fighting the Windmills | figthingwindmills.blogspot.com Reviews

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Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Sunday, January 4, 2009. Slowed b...

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3 fighting the windmills

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7 1 comment

8 apple heart

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10 wormhole

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Fighting the Windmills | figthingwindmills.blogspot.com Reviews

https://figthingwindmills.blogspot.com

Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Sunday, January 4, 2009. Slowed b...

INTERNAL PAGES

figthingwindmills.blogspot.com

1

Fighting the Windmills: Ashes

http://www.figthingwindmills.blogspot.com/2008/11/ashes.html

Thursday, November 20, 2008. Peace Minster, no arms. I shout in East LA,. And hope to God, I live. It’s nothing I’ve seen. Or hope for again,. But it falls and burns. Going in my lungs. Fire, be damned. The world’s going to end. I’ve heard and rejected. Through dead, smoky air. I shouldn’t be running,. I know that well,. Won’t stop, even in hell. At least that’s what I think. As it’s happening here,. And I run through it. The ashes aren’t sky. Or her crumbling in. People are crazy,. Peace Minster, no arms.

2

Fighting the Windmills: The Eve of Hope

http://www.figthingwindmills.blogspot.com/2008/11/eve-of-hope.html

Sunday, November 23, 2008. The Eve of Hope. Dr Stein pushed her glasses back up her nose, scribbled a few notes and said, “I never can tell what you’re going to say next. Interesting as it is, let’s focus on what you just said about not knowing if your friends are real.”. 8220;Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” She sat a moment in silence, flipping a fifty-cent piece around in her right hand. It was obvious she was thinking as she watched the coin spin around and around in her fingertips. The girl moved from the...

3

Fighting the Windmills: Apple Heart

http://www.figthingwindmills.blogspot.com/2009/01/apple-heart.html

Sunday, January 4, 2009. If I could, I’d split, half-eaten,. Like an apple heart,. Instead, I have worms, eating everything. I need for her to understand. The seeds are words, choking me. When mother says, Don’t come. To my funeral. It’s what you do. Before. I can’t swallow her. Death, barely, when she’s too. Cold for life. The bite is more. Than I can make excuses for. Without sounding like a pushover. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Fighting the Windmills, CA. View my complete profile.

4

Fighting the Windmills: January 2009

http://www.figthingwindmills.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html

Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Sunday, January 4, 2009. Slowed b...

5

Fighting the Windmills: Four Corners

http://www.figthingwindmills.blogspot.com/2009/01/four-corners.html

Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Hey, adults reading here.LOL!

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figthingwindmills.blogspot.com

Fighting the Windmills

Sunday, January 11, 2009. They hide in dark spots, waiting to spit if I stop. Sometimes I see their greasy boxes with clothes. Draped over like shrines to the fallen. I recognize. The grainy cough and cover, sinking so far I need. A priest, even though I’ve never been catholic. Father can’t help me if I don’t stop running. Downtown at midnight, sharing the same streets. He tries to clean through prayers. If they catch me,. On the corner, they can have me, I say as cocky. Sunday, January 4, 2009. Slowed b...

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