Tweets
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Water freezing and thawing on a mountainside. The nature of art.
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From a single note, a chord. A melody, a song.
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Lost, I'm lost. Loss. I've lost one Mr. Jack Frost.
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Place your hands in the water, get bit by a fish, know love.
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Refracted, Reflected, light, a particle that is beauty, beauty in a particle, a wave.
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A tree, planted on a hill, bending backwards in growth to maintain balance.
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Maybe poetry is not meant for January, at a ceremony, where a man takes an oath.
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The good old days of poetry after the dark ages.
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Star me love.
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The wind blows, it sounds like a siren. It must be cold outside.
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...something amiss in the abyss...
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The sky falls, the river widens, taking itself into the field.
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Together encompassing something greater, the concept of sport. The want of love.
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The time of year, in love with, watching a breath float up into the atmosphere.
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The story of a line starts with two points plotted.
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Connect and interconnect every story you've ever known with a man that delivers newspapers.
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The smell of wood burning in a stove a mile away bringing warmth to a traveler on the coldest of nights.
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Major in the minor key.
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When tweets start to fall on deaf ears, tweet some more just to be sure.
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A cliff can become a thousand waterfalls through the magic of rain.
Hank
Madame La Crooz
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