In the Morning
Eeyore the donkey not yet shrieking his usual song of morning glory.
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Crying for her first emperor…
Her tears mingle wearing his crossed-collar Blue silk blouse in bed And, when there dried, she’s interned in clay. With her terracotta army, With her terracotta, stalwart, horse.
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Five-Oh-Six-Three (Part Three)
"Identify yerselves, or prepare to pay the muther-fuckin' consequences.”
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- 1143 reads
Five-Oh-Six-Three (Part Two)
“How do I know that this isn't your lair? How do I know you're not an unspeakable carnivorous demon? You certainly look the part."
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The Author
This is how I feel when I write fiction.
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A Train to Montreal
a repetitious journey across miles of pasture trees clumped in shades of branches
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Day 1 of work
Maybe this is really a prayer...
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- 752 reads
Alcohol IP
The onset of alcoholism
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- 2105 reads