I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
The wet November asphalt is waiting The streetlight looks at it skeptically Its naïve optimism is grating When you have seen what autumn nights can be
By D. J. Reddall3 months ago in Poets
Chatbots flatter us They suckle at eye udders Attention gluttons
Red pages published By quiet, wooden presses Rivers read autumn
*Bob! How do you feel?* This thought was the first thing I became aware of, once I was able to pay attention to anything other than the muck.
By D. J. Reddall3 months ago in Horror
When your own army Bothers your citizenry Your state's sclerotic
How they will scold you about the danger Human connections are our primary concern, upon them we rely For every aspect and ingredient of our flourishing: social, economic, cultural
The veil between worlds Thins, and there you are; I am Surprised by envy
Their trembling does not betoken fear Raw and roiling pleasure licks them dirty Myths and legends made them dread time here
You are reading now Did you expect this poem To see that coming?
Savor the eldritch irony you see: A primitive broom, dull as drudgery Transformed by magic secrets known to me Into a flying steed that makes me free!
I shed my humanity too quickly The moon lapped greedily at my raw wound When first I changed, my fur bloomed so thickly!
Pay close attention The present is becoming What you remember
