XLIV. Arethusa will color a new river red
The souls of the ages recognize a common thread
Crackpots converge at forty and seventy-four
Peacock’s gold scraped from the ocean’s door
Riddle me this... - *?* When is a writer not a writer? *A * When he doesn't write. Despite my best intentions, I'm no longer compelled to wri...
3 weeks ago