Looks a touch sinister, no?
View from the top…floor.
Elk
The elk moves, he knows his body
is loved. He does his slow work.
Under hooves, the meadow
is young. Whose are you, elk?
Head down, near the leaves,
he leans his mouth
low. He is careful.
By Ryan Funk, Poet
post infection post
I can’t sleep without my silly sauce. who would have thought grape flavored narcotics would ever let me down?
someday I’ll do a better job of this.
“have a lucky day, kid.”
—the cowboy in my building.
bring back the magic.
I am now a tumblr.
