My writing slinks here to die. Actually... my poems are zombies, and that's fine. Let them wander about and moan at each other. I'm done spoon-feeding them my brains.

Don't get me wrong: I like what I've posted here, but I like the pieces I've posted because they represent how I felt this day or that. These ideas may even wind up in a story later on.

Anyway, these poems aren't "finished," but I'm done with them... for now.

The story behind this photograph breaks my heart.

I would have thrown stones at the restaurant worker in turn, or chased him away. Perhaps then he would have realized it isn't very nice to hound another living creature...