I found out where my problem with commas stems. These days I do too much talking and less writing. Need to start writing more.

When, you, talk
it feels smooth as this.
Smooth as a wet scaly fish
with a tadpole friend

at, the end, of the pond.

Walk on over, rub the head.
Little bald cute as hell head,
then the valkyries sing.
And you know you’re dead.

Death, YES, YOU, TOO.
Since I drowned in that swimming pool,
you’ve been eyeing my soul.
Was worth it, though, wasn’t it?

To come back to your Mother,
wet and cold and shivering,
mud of lagoon heavy on shoulders,
and say: “I’m still alive!”

Looks on the faces
of people passing-by
so out of context and out of
rhyme,

yet priceless.

Tagged with  
, , ,
About runningvein
Avatar of runningvein
"My pieces comprise, entirely, works of fiction. Some pieces are shorts, others tend to get a little longer. Some are straightforward and may be read evenly, while others can tend to be amorphous. You see, sometimes the writer does his piece completely lucid, sitting straight up and staring intently into it as his fingers simply glide across the keys. Other times his eyes are opaque with tears from imaginary emotions. Sentences, nay, words, barely come out as he stabs at each letter with one trembling finger, like how your mom types. Then there are the times a piece of work is scrawled from a leaking pen on a notepad in a bar after several whiskeys, as the writer gleefully tries to get everything down before the bouncers come over to throw him out for laughing like a crazy person to himself all night. The writer cannot say what is good, or what is bad. He can only write. It does not do for one to rank a piece of his work above others, just as it does not do for one to deign to strive to be published. That must be left to others, to come and ask the writer if they may publish his work, and that all of the work would be copyright (c) him 2000-2009, if they were to do so. Some of the pieces may even seem far too real -- as though he's actually blogging about his real life, his personal thoughts. You know -- because it is a blog, some people may think that may be the case. Well it ain't, damn you, it ain't." The man in the tracksuit shrugged over the counter. "Thanks for the info, Hemingway," he said, "but I just wanted to know where the damn ATM is."

5 thoughts on “I found out where my problem with commas stems. These days I do too much talking and less writing. Need to start writing more.

  1. the more I read it the more I like it. good job

  2. Wow. I really like this.

    Scratch that, I love this. Good job. :)

  3. i like commas, periods though give me the willies, they just end everything, no chance for a new beginning, so i guess semicolons are like an ex girlfriend im only partially pissed at

Leave a Reply