January 4, 2013 is the one year anniversary of the lost beat!
To commemorate the occasion, I wanted to rustle up some...
There is a recurring theme lately in my poetry : flappers. Wild, sad, meek, rich, poor - all kinds of flappers.
They will not...
There we are. A long, strange winter, and a devastating yet invigorating start to spring. Where the heck is that jar of olives?
If I were me (and I am), I would set down that slice of pie and pick up a fresh piece of charcoal. There’s a lot of bricks coming up on the horizon. Know what I mean?
No, neither do I. Beware.
in the flames.
Beware the midget cowpokes on the streets today.
It’s done. For now. The new novel is done.