considering refusing imaginary solutions.

Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals
From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,
And bosom beating with a heart renewed.
Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom,
Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,
Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team
Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,
And shake the darkness from their loosened manes,
And beat the twilight into flakes of a fire.

ole’ Lord Tennyson on Aurora

if you’d like a pressing of one of my favorite (and least understood) stories, order your copy here. if it seems like it doesn’t make sense, i’d say you’re wrong, but hey, at least there are some nude pics throughout, to break up the, ya know, reading part.

that could have been
that could have been

My poems “Son of a Dragon,” “Dimmer,” “Lyrics/Options,” and “A Collection of Parallel Rays” will appear in The Screech Owl, from Resurgant Press.

The first and last can be viewed in their archives online, the other two are up on their website now.

(Leonard is everywhere)

careful, the story i have in this one may hurt your brain.

is always a nonimaginary number of a day.

or i guess i wrote that on my calendar a long time ago, but i can’t quite remember why, though i know it made absolute sense at the time.

attempting to master the art of ataraxia.

ah hell.