-
The stack of booksgrows like a cinder cone.Volcanic pressure buildingtoward the inevitable. Like a spy in the shadows,I question and observe. We havean understanding, my brain and I.I understand that I don’t understand. The insatiable yearningfor ever more learning—the thirst, the leaning,the lust for meaning. Lava oozes.Intelligence leaking,no longer covert. © 2026 Bruno Talerico54/365
-
The insane prevail,disguised as leaders. War’s dirtiest trickis to leave us physically intactwhile systematicallychipping away at our souls. After a while, the dead and dying all look the same. Although we knowthe truth,they call us crazy. © 2026 Bruno Talerico53/365
-
Beings of dawn and dusk straddle the border between one thingand another. Not quite,almost—all edges and shadows. Veiled daylight flowsin the river betweendesire and choice. To leave the familiar shore,to challenge icy water and strong currents,to be swept into the darknessis to enter the depths of fear. Pushback is proofwe have crossedbeyond the ordinary. Every…
-
Will Americaever be great? Lies exist in slogans;truth lives in the rubble. All disasters are not natural; some wear a red hat. © 2026 Bruno Talerico51/365 Image created with AI.
-
When I’m really attracted to someone,I get nervous,tongue-tied, or shy. So if I seem quietor say awkward thingsit’s probably because I like you. © 2026 Bruno Talerico50/365
-
Todayis the beginningof daylightsaving time. Does that mean yesterdaywas the endof daylightspending time? ©2026 Bruno Talerico49/365
-
Our memories are a turbulent sea.All of what we see and heargets churned and editedover and over.The best parts float,skimmed from the foam,caught in piles of driftwood,for the next monsoon rain.Our brains get busywhenever we touch something,creating connections,rearranging what we knew.Smells and tastes we love,come rushing back like a river,flowing, swirling, tumblingdown a rock-strewn canyon.Rivers…
-
We ride slowlyalong the winding cemetery road past mythic oaks, shadowy sycamoresand red-leafed maples. At the top of a small hill,the road curves to the right,and there I see my future. Three feet from the road’s edge,a headstone: No epitaph, no dates,only a name,my name. And suddenlyI am mortal. © 2026 Bruno Talerico47/365
-
I sit in comfort, writingin my home in the desert Southwest. At this exact moment,someone else is writingin a place torn by waror smothered in poverty. As I sip my freshly brewed French roast,someone is writingwhile waiting in lineto get food and waterfor another day of survival. © 2026 Bruno Talerico 46/365
-
This witty little ditty emergedwhile moaning and groaning,birthing a steamy brown log. While seated on the Open-Faced Throne,my mind wanderedto this strange concoction of words—this amalgamation. This abomination was startingwhile farting fragrant fecal vapors,then an inkling while tinklingamber dropletsfalling like crystalsinto foul water. So now I apologize while burping,for rudely usurpingyour valuable timewith this shitty…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Desert Dweller 