Witless the words that carried you here. Monosyllabic, the mark of my fears That cannot ever be given a voice that thrive in the dark...

In corners of your consciousness, The creases in your brain Thoughts lie hidden Come unbidden At first a tiny trickle But the trickle...

Most of my poetry tends to be written in the wee hours of the night. There is one of the more lighthearted of those poems, talking about...