Tears of Shiva shed into rivers. Cherry blossoms fell. The goddess of the confluence admired them for a time
before she released them. The tears scoured suffering. The petals added beauty. The river flows on.
I watch where streams of consciousness flow into one another and write what I see.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Writers From Hell
Come O Shiva shed thy tears and wash away the pain. A rain for terror and for fear for all who've gone insane. When writers channel only demons, living hell and gore, raped and molding corpses sell cruises in Darfur.