Writer, Musician, Lawyer, Untrained Warrior-Poet.
Keep on sleeping through the end of the nightmare,
Because failure is just a metaphor for the gallons of sweat that make, like, similes.
I’ve Drunk enough goodwill and I can spit it to like a bird to it’s young,
If you say this is opportunity knocking, then it’s on the cemetery walls where old dreams come to die. I, this downtrodden retriever having fetched his last ball, will refuse to answer your call.
It’s only a Chair, and it sits there in the middle of the room for weeks without anyone to come and claim it.
It’s off kilter, a spindle, the left-most of a would be foursome, is missing. The only markers of its being gone are…