It is now the flare
before the final falling...

This is what she would have thought,
had she thought at all, with her sea...

Out on the raging battleground,
the ocean's churning field...

Home to hillbillies,
hipsters, and honest...

As winter shuffles in and stomps its boots,
and autumn, fleeing, leaves the door agape...

Certainly. How could I not recall
how...

A life may be shattered,
beautifully...

Josie Gerbil wobbled woozily,
sloshed silly again on rotten rodent rum...

Timelessly I stare
searching my own eyes...

Mornings allow me to forget.
The bright glare of day sweeps out...

I dream in paisley printed paint
with flowers in my hair...

My cat is
my little striped shadow...