An End in Itself

 

It's a circular path into nowhere.

Spiraling, even.

 

It's not a place of beauty,

I can tell you that,

and it's not a place of hope.

You just can't go there.

 

At some point in every day,

your breath catches in your throat.

 

I cry every day. The life with polka dots,

it lives in water.

 

 

Source: NPR story about Newtown shootings.

H o w i e
G o o d

home

about rhp

contact us

 

 

H o w i e   G o o d

Prelude to the Revolution

Home

Copyright

Time in a Bottle

Definitions

An End in Itself

Secrets

Prelude to the Revolution

Smells Like Teen Spirit

Blue Sunday

The School of Good & Evil

The Empty Bell

It's Only Love

The Cruel Radiance of What Is

An Eyeful

Parlez-Vous Anglais?

A Coffee to Go

Paradoxes

What the Blankety-Blank

Ghost Moose

The Vulture Song

The Bird World

Status Update

 

Arbus

Devolving

Certain Machines

The Flaw

 

Afterword

Author

right hand pointing

main page

submit