a cataract for the pages of history

if nothing else works, call your mom. poetry #9

❝o god, the son of peleus is indeed a fury; his grief is rolling off in waves of sweat and blood as he brings countless ills upon the achaeans.❞ a rendition of the trojan war in verse [© afterwords 2016] poetry #367

"sun-bleached suburbia, clean like the teeth of the teens once were." a poetry collection on suburban corruption