Honorary Schizophrenic. Bookgardener@gmail.com.
Death dropped by last night. I never expect him, but he was lonely and I was available.
~ for Paul Eluard
This prison isn’t so bad.
Though the nights are cold,
tree roots break in to warm him.
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell…
“The imaginary is what tends to become real.”