A few rhymes and not much reason; a lot of lines and not much said; written in parks, in dull classrooms, on seats of stone, and on my bed.
To say more, all this is stuff that I make up when ecstatic, broken-hearted, frustrated, or just plain bored. Ballad and mythical poetry are my favourite genres, as perhaps might be reflected here.
(And I promise: NO paragraphs split into structureless lines at more-or-less arbitrary positions.)
