Abney Park Cemetery

There’s a party in the gravestones, dear The beggarmen all dance Poverty is not the drug That has them in a trance Bending moving shaking frames No music in their rhythms Culture found beneath the line Beyond the social schisms The partygoers every night Are vagrant...

She was

she was beautiful in the most unique and special way as only a complete stranger can be… at least in my mind… every inch of her skin glowed as if reflecting the shimmer from her perfectly styled shoulder-length hair… I dreamed at that moment of a hundred years...

Susan

She’d stopped looking at me when I spoke to her. It’s been 7 years now And she’s only grown colder. I’m halfway through telling her about my day, just moments after I’ve walked in. She walks out. I don’t know why I still take time...