The Cure
Give it hemlock, just a sip! Our sick relationship is ripe for mercy killing. But she's unwilling. Glad lovers turn to sad detesters, and every old wound festers. Kill it; no salve can...
View ArticleOur Refugee in the Strife
Trashcans in grumpy rows where twilight comes down canyons of the slums— devils are dancing there that won't stay hid, and terror flips its lid. God of our fathers, art Thou still our Guide?...
View ArticleLament for a Fertile Father
Few boys disparage the joys of marriage. Most girls imagine the pearls they'll cadge in (nor dread dead fish in) the wed condition. O churls so mulish and girls so foolish by lust so harried...
View Article
More Pages to Explore .....
