It is not with the lyre of someone in love that I go seducing people. The rattle of the leper is what sings in my hands. Wednesday, September 03, 2008. Today as I skip to the rhythm. Of nursery rhymes and hop-scotch from Narnia. Stories to fairy tales, I see a rainbow. Perhaps because I have never seen. And leaving behind my toys of gold. I climb it to reach the door-less.

Friday, April 26, 2013. From the grave-bed and the winding sheet. Is a long way for dead feet. A dark road for dead eyes. That leads to the gates of paradise. To knock on Hades gate. His way over the whin-pricked moor. And the noise of the wind was great. He had no lantern to his feet. Nor candle in his hand. Such as God gives to every man. That dies at the time planned. The angels sit in highest heaven. And trim the lamps of God.

Blog of The Shit Creek Review. The front line of the War on Poetry. Sunday, January 08, 2012. It will save me if Malice. With intent to harm;. It turns the spell;. The hater is harmed, not me. Which trolls know not,. Nor might trolls ever mount to mind.