The beastly summer months are creeping in;
I can sense their hot breath and lolling tongue
like a pit bull lurking behind a cypress fence
waiting for the wood to rot away
so it can lunge into my peaceful spring yard.
Random Posts
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- The Good Old Days: a bucolicI mourn the past, the “good old days”; the world was simpler then; how much I wish we could return to life like “way back …
- Untitled: an amphigory
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