Thanksgiving week. Philled with Nothing.

In the end I had cabin fever. Trapped without my solitude, and exposed to all my worldly belongings, I am forced without transportation to belittle my time and efforts in a single space in time. I have tried and to no avail did any matter come from my rumaging and lazing. Fine dining and good company have overstayed, or understayed as I currently welcome their hospitality. Upon my return home I shall have to imagine looking back and discreetly remarking "Gobble. Gobble."

The Journey Home

The story of Father and Son
is older than my very own.
From creation to the setting sun
A journey all embark upon
Two serpents much like nomads are
Must venture very very far
And when the journey home concludes
They find their home suits cloaks and hoods
http://www.flickr.com/photos/30504755@N06/sets/72157609338406939/show/

Open Wide

Salutations.

I have not lost my child within. I have not lost my hope. My blind faith from childhood has turned into observations of truths. I create so my mind may be free. I believe that my soul may fly. I write so my heart can sing.

Open your eyes,
Rest your lips,
Phil the Mouth