Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Waste Lot Want Lot We’re the ones that live in rot. Fields of trash that we forgot. Our poisoned future is Apathy’s plot. We fail to think how to recycle. Trapped in our own excusing cycle. “We’re too busy” No, Continue reading Waste Lot Want Lot by Jason Conway
The Rabid Dogs of Ink Hubble bubble toil and trouble Ignorant mouths spout hate at the double Vile words born from sleazy ink Lies to twist the way we think. The hunt for truth chained in a box Buried deep Continue reading The Rabid Dogs of Ink by Jason Conway
Alien Nations I wonder if we’re aliens sent to destroy all beauty, at the will of an omnipresent evil bidder’s duty. For all that we do is caused by destruction and what stands in our way isn’t long an obstruction. Continue reading Alien Nations by Jason Conway