I was walking up the old wooden stairs, following my companions up to try and end yet another evil being.
Stack, footstool of Thor’s voice, Tremble the earth before the sky’s blood So tender to melt the earth, Foisted and fostering, Awaiting grace on the fall of summer,
Cut from the oak, in dying it lives again. Swishing harvest fields austerely as a judge, Beheading the still and silent grain, The axe come to call on Anne Boleyn.
First crow to the kill dips his beak in gruesome ink, Red staining his glossy black plumage. Looking furtively for unwanted brothers, Those as bleak in outlook as he.
Mother Heaven help me to endure and I shall be a carrier of your cure. Mother Heaven help me win my fight and I will be a bearer of your light. Let your sacred milk of mercy flow.
Fifty two year old, Jack Finnegan opened his eyes to see chrome wire spokes of a wheel. He felt a slight tapping on the top of his aching head.
There was a pirate octopus who had four wooden tentacles; he sailed the seven salty seas in a boat built out of barnacles. From lobsters, crabs and cuttlefish, he made his fearsome crew
January Morning Winter. The lady’s cold, rheumatic fingers scratch away some ice from her windows. Some children in the street throwing snowballs. Clunk! Snow hits the wall, and sticks,
Newborn Brilliant times in the home, just a playful baby and me. Brilliant times all alone, just a tearful baby – you’ll see. Brilliant times in the home, just a stinky baby and me.
Look, little kittens, up at the sky. Can you see the black cats sitting upon high? The stars are their eyes all shining bright as they watch over good little kittens in the night.
Every hurt consoles me with a new devotion So wont yah join me in jumpin off these falls… Niagara woman—there’s no such destruction