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ZeroKelvin

  • The Hounds of Autumn

    The Hounds of AutumnAutumn’s hawk flies free,Shredding the rain.Each inconsequential fleck of water falls,Unmissed,With nary a ripple into the clings to my hair,My gloves,My boots.A coat of mithril

    • Poetry
    • Narrative
    2 min read
  • Just One Second

    Just One SecondThe moon is half full.Around us, the streetlights wear a halo of grime.Ahead, an old friend waits for us.But right here,Right now,There is only us.We’re awkward,But it’s not ...

    • Poetry
    • Lyrical
    1 min read


Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses ... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth—reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light.
— Guildenstern (Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard)