De Spērantia

It was an awful year.    December is at its end and like most I find myself reflecting on the past by interval of dozens. And yet I know twelve doesn't capture yester-yays quite so well. Our lives aren't so simple as to fit into cartons like...

Birth, Much A Lot Like Death

Your love was worthy of my life and so I gave it gladly. Not with a sign or wine but a smirk and  smile happy as the day we (never) met. No sacrifice or ritual needed in that threaded ends well met, decided to put to rest such a restless deviled man....