Somewhere in La Fortuna, a block or two west from the city square, just left of the mural of a cheetah, there is a restaurant, a restaurant wall where the owner collects drawings from his customers, customers from all over the world, the drawings depict it all from Ontario to Israel. And somewhere among that […]
I don’t like talking about you in third person
I guess I can’t credit the Milankovitch cycles for this phenomenon.
acoustic songs are better
A poem (feat. my fish)
amory blaine (reprise)
Closure warranted, capturing stray thoughts and pasting them here.
It was going to happen eventually, I guess.
Another cryptic poem about fish.
forrest, from your (favorite) progeny
I suppose this is what I meant to write all along.