Strange
And stranger
Things have happened
A darkness within a hole
That only goes deeper
As we fall
Spiraling down
Never to hit the end
Never to know
If one must think the worst
It would be better to forget
The strangest day yet
Was to learn
That there was no reason.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Gregg