During the day racing from one conviction to the next with your texting your blogging your twittering
I ask who you are talking to and you say no one but all this typing is going on that's talking to someone and you say you are tweeting.
It is fucking amazing how we can parse things out so that it is not it but rather it of a very specific other variety of it but not exactly since it here is not it there and so the omission is permissible.
So it was a pleasant Sunday afternoon As I was just sitting there Watching a football game, More like just listening to the buzz on the TV While reading and writing. Then, a weird sort of e-mails comes in Curious, I look. It is a weird sort of response To a poem on the net, Full of spite, anger and rebuke From a total stranger Not even known from Adam and Eve. What to do? How to react? I am baffled, but methinks It might be a good base For a short story. I will dwell on that. Kisses, Robert.
Along the River Rother Torch-lights search the muddy banks Seeking out, the lost, and lonely After a small boat had been sank
Sadly shattering, those living As young childhood was taken A parents one moment of carelessness Thinking it safe, but were sadly mistaken
The cruel undercurrents, by Rye Harbour Had stolen some more victims to enslave The lifeboat on this occasion, unsuccessful As three young children, were swept away to their grave circa early 1970's by Jemia
I am Me, a vampiri of the Nosferatu order We are a symbiotic being, needing a host to fill our orders We crawled up through the bowels of hell into this cave Preying upon bats, wolves, and anything living in order to be saved
To my surprise Vlad stumbled into my cave one day injured from the battlefield Slashes and stabs covered his body, his armor gouged by steel He fell to the cave floor and as he laid dying I heard his pleas He only wished death upon his enemies and my appearance brought him to his knees