I walk, I talk, I shoot the breeze /
I wax poetic, often with ease /
And though my meter’s sometimes wrong, /
At least my poems aren’t that long
Stories
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An Elegy for The Lost
There’s a group of people you probably don’t notice all that often. They sit in their houses and watch the television, without knowing what’s on. They stand on the porch and listen to the wind whistle through the trees, though they kn...
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A Mind is a Terrible Thing
It’s so cold here. I’ve always hated the cold. We’ve been wandering for a few hours now. He’s grown quite irritable. We’ll have to find food soon. I don’t need much, but he’s always ravenous. I guess that’...
