Black laced pen.
Blood laced pen. Fight or flee? Love or hate? Stay or go? Laugh or cry? I wonder what Hemingway remembered in his last moment. Did he remember war or the face of Agnes?… Continue reading
Blood laced pen. Fight or flee? Love or hate? Stay or go? Laugh or cry? I wonder what Hemingway remembered in his last moment. Did he remember war or the face of Agnes?… Continue reading
The reaper… I have played hide and see with the reaper and the fucking reaper found me in Downtown Austin, Texas. She was a pretty gal with a voice of gold. She told… Continue reading
( April is poetry month. Poem number twelve.) The song of life, the song of death.. I have sang the song of life and I have sang the song of death. The songs… Continue reading