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thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com

The Smoking Mirror

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, October 19, 2012. A Bullet through the Throat. When I was little I remember burning ants on the side walk. They curled under the beauty of their own consumption. Nearly able to satiate my appetite for destroying life. Their cries. Bark louder because of the smoke. I scratched the American flag stitched into the left back pocket of my jeans. My head filled with questions: They have too many stars considering how a lot of people can’t ...Even sure I...

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The Smoking Mirror | thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com Reviews
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Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, October 19, 2012. A Bullet through the Throat. When I was little I remember burning ants on the side walk. They curled under the beauty of their own consumption. Nearly able to satiate my appetite for destroying life. Their cries. Bark louder because of the smoke. I scratched the American flag stitched into the left back pocket of my jeans. My head filled with questions: They have too many stars considering how a lot of people can’t ...Even sure I...
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1 the smoking mirror
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The Smoking Mirror | thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com Reviews

https://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, October 19, 2012. A Bullet through the Throat. When I was little I remember burning ants on the side walk. They curled under the beauty of their own consumption. Nearly able to satiate my appetite for destroying life. Their cries. Bark louder because of the smoke. I scratched the American flag stitched into the left back pocket of my jeans. My head filled with questions: They have too many stars considering how a lot of people can’t ...Even sure I...

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thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com
1

The Smoking Mirror

http://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com/2012/09/loveshould-not-serve-as-cord-of.html

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, September 7, 2012. Love should not serve as the cord of a desperate soul. It is what is closest to my mind and furthest from my face. Kill me dead to find me. Slain, slew slay me and I am found. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Loveshould not serve as the cord of a desperate so. Mybody is my body in either beauty or despair.Noch. Theseare words that I write. Theydon’t feel like m. Another poem with a title. 160; &...

2

The Smoking Mirror: November 2010

http://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Tuesday, November 16, 2010. I cannot imagine a world where there is no light. And moments pass too quick to gather. Spinning in the churning waves are vapid hopes that break apart like sea foam. Do I have the faith? Will the spirit ever reside in my soiled temple? Might I pass the test of life and slumber no longer in the dark waters that baptize me? Even as I fall through this lonely life and words fill me up,. I would wield the scythe against myself.

3

The Smoking Mirror

http://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com/2012/10/lovedid-not-make-me-but-i-am.html

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, October 19, 2012. Love Did Not Make Me, but I Am a Fulfillment of It. Caroline is afraid, but still she does not cry for her grandmother. She does not cry for her dear Lulu, though she loves her so very much. Off comes her black sequined hat as she slowly frees her fingers of her grandfather’s soft grip. “Caroline, where are you going? Stay on the path Caroline, I mean it. You understand? Is that what you want Caroline, a curse from the lord?

4

The Smoking Mirror

http://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com/2012/09/mybody-is-my-body-in-either-beauty-or.html

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, September 7, 2012. My body is my body in either beauty or despair. No chain will bind me greater. Than my own ensnaring arms,. Not even your Honesty that is so much to want. Will thrust its hands around my neck and force me. To relinquish that bequeath unto none but I. Not that life should be so dishonest, mind you,. But people rarely take up truth matriculating. Along the borders of this shared monolithic shrine. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).

5

The Smoking Mirror

http://thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com/2012/09/littleniggas-with-more-heart-than-jesus.html

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, September 7, 2012. Little niggas with more heart than Jesus, sport big ass pistols. Through a land of crosses swaying in an incandescent night. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Loveshould not serve as the cord of a desperate so. Mybody is my body in either beauty or despair.Noch. Theseare words that I write. Theydon’t feel like m. Wordsare with God andthrough themGodtraps and tran. Another poem with a title. 160; ...

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Liberation of the Children at T. Don Hutto: 08/2009

http://liberatechildren.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html

Liberation of the Children at T. Don Hutto. August 31, 2009. FW: Lulac sugarcoats the Cause. Original Message - - -. Subject: Lulac sugarcoats the Cause. Date: Thu, 27 Aug 2009 5:59:05. From: Greg Schwartz greg.m.schwartz@gmail.com. To: pedro ruiz21@yahoo.com. Hey Pedro, I was just googling myself and found this blog: http:/ liberatechildren.blogspot.com/2009/08/stop-making-t-don-hutto-residential.html. Twitter - http:/ twitter.com/gms1969. Stop Obama's ICE RAIDS! To: aztlan university@yahoogroups.com.

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thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com thesmokingmirror.blogspot.com

The Smoking Mirror

Poetry, Fiction, and whatever else comes to mind. Friday, October 19, 2012. A Bullet through the Throat. When I was little I remember burning ants on the side walk. They curled under the beauty of their own consumption. Nearly able to satiate my appetite for destroying life. Their cries. Bark louder because of the smoke. I scratched the American flag stitched into the left back pocket of my jeans. My head filled with questions: They have too many stars considering how a lot of people can’t ...Even sure I...

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