Spring

The sense of an ending is the essential mist around winter street lamps at night. Summer, too, longs for the bite, the tenacity of Winter during its contentless afternoons that ooze into evenings…

Smartphone

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Letter to a Thief

Your words of wisdom sound so sweet,
Such bitter truth in perfect rhyme,
Yet when my ears the echoes meet,
So too resounds a wicked crime.

The thoughts you claim to be your own,
Ring certain — loud and true,
But of their birth let it be known,
Your minutes spent were few.

For every message that you’ve left,
Speaks but a single lie —
The brazen act of heartless theft,
Where mortal trust is sent to die.

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