A Plea For Mercy: The Grace Of Morta
These are the days when the Chthonic gods arise from their rightful place in the mantel of the earth
They invade my bloodstream like so many cancerous super warriors headed straight for my soul
I know they are there; I can feel them
These are proud beasts,... more »
The Cat Is Un Gato
In my asylum there are no words classified as of the lexical variety;
Neither words to give away nor any to steal from myself.
There is only the enigma of language disguised by the simulacrum of communication.
A Mobius strip infinitely folding & unfolding upon & into itself.... more »
A Conversation With An Ant
I engaged an ant in conversation at the corner bus stop.
I was patiently waiting for a bus to take me on a much needed trip to the moon:
A fact, I clearly averred aloud, for next I hear
'To the moon? '... more »