The very astute D.C. pointed out that I write poetry, so blame him for this. (Really, it's like saying, "Hey, weren't you in the Army?", (which, incidently, I was, and this twenty-year-old-timer does tend to ramble on about it sometimes (I have stories that would make a raccoon cringe.)))

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Crush over a moment in time
An isolate cell in your mind
So polished it almost shines
With a light that maybe wasn't there before

Past. Imperfect and frozen
Only after "Remember when
Virgil let go of your hand?"
And then you had both free to grope your own way

Spit. Watch where the wind blows it
A Sputter A vocal skip
Blame a weather glitch
To fool every fool that heard you

The breeze is slinking through the glen
It carries oxygen
To try to suffocate
The wild grasses there this time for good


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The simple build their cellar doors
To admit them below their floors
And when below, despite their boredom
Do not invite the earth to join them
But leave it outside where they've flung it
And convince themselves they're not among it.

Well, that's the kind of stuff I write, some are just wordplay, some have a vague point.

Again, direct all complaints to D.C.