Betrayed by own brethren, enduring this nightmare...
Fumes like a broken engine, pursuing parched air...
They are slanted.
Enchanted...
A mystic path winds through my mind
Of misty gold, its trees sublime...
The Eternal Drifter
An endless road...
Betwixt reality and delusion
lie faces in black and white...
This was written for a club challenge, Take your...
January 31st, 1876 All Native Americans were...
I feel like a star
cast amongst this ambiguousness...
I am offended
by your metaphors...
Yes, I still hear your voice
echoing in those former alleyways...
The urge to tell stories,
to tell the story...
I don’t know
why I am nobody...
You, my creation, my art,
you...