The inane questions are wonderful.
"Why didn't Descartes consider that God could...

My dreams are stuffed and crowded with monsters
both human and beast...

Before the gathering of dust and time,
catches...

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

Captured in my small scribblings
you think you glimpse some goddess...

I work in a school
full and full of women...

As steeliness sinks deeper into fog,
the brine and brush of grey enfolding grey...

It's December, and
the fog is stalking...

A work in progress...

Here is my deception,
made for the sake of my...

My self blooms
along with the world...

Little nymph, you call me
I am cool and white, bathing in your smile...