Random scribblings -- poems, song lyrics, novel excerpts, maybe a short story a time or two, possibly even a drawing once in a while, an occasional rant -- from the last 25 years or so, with no claim made for their merit or value, simply a demonstration of their existence.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
No more can I speak about what I write
Than the deer its headlong flight
From pursuit. Swift, beautiful and true
Had it slowed even once, more,
It would never have caught the bullet