An Appalachian writer with a penchant for depressing Russian tomes and Quentin Tarantino films. Of http://www.baileywrites.com.
I haven’t been writing much lately.
I seem to have misplaced my words.
Or perhaps I just have too many.
The flame flutters and twitches,
dims, drips wax, then revives.
It flickers and licks like wildfire
at the dreadful advance of twilight.
I like laundromats.
I don’t like them when they’re busy