Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock The rickety old grandfather clock elicited a slight creak as the long metronome flung to and fro. Dust wrapped…
The woman in the glasses sits skeleton and quiet behind the desk of mahogany-carved gates of hell. Her eyes like gray bullets molten and shaped in hard cast-iron fire crushed and pressed beneath the silver days of youth.
When the days are cold, I fill them with words; When the nights grow weary, the lessons I’ve learned. The…
A goose goes slowly on the path “Nothing like an evil stash” It thinks, so it waddles to the puddle…