rhyme
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It lives. Lake water lapping along low strides longing for an estranged sea, a tear-soaked mother turned face away from desperate plea…
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The Carnival Boxes and boxes of dumbly stacked hammers, striking hardware shelves in heavily-cleft stammers. That which builds by force also destroys much the same…
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I’ve a funny feeling on my face. I don’t think it’s quite in the right place. These words you find on some line, as I’ve lost the use of mouth. Formulated in time by a mind whose metre is composed in doubt…
Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 