Oh you wanton weary souls Catechized by disgrace into your rose-red trances Liars with kiss swollen lips can tell no truths Flickering heartbeats, pirouetting prettily on trembling limbs Enduring the feast is what matters most. My cat is a voracious romantic.
Writing is such terrible bliss. Rising to write is like facing a brain scan each dawn, a heart scan each noon, and a soul scan each midnight. Everyone else is living while we are writing about a life once lived or never lived, imagined to be lived or hoped to be lived. The clear fact […]