In old tales, men entered the forest alone, cut their own path through darkness. No guide but belief. No ancestry but thought, a word -- walk -- as thorns became home and light, theirs.
Tag: men
from Beginning Middle Man
“Un-washed”
I don’t smell like soap. I smell like whore steam motel carpet beer, not imported, domestic, and stand a man to watch you walk in.
Think you might want more? Go to Books.
Poetry not your thing? Try Stories.
Greg Beckman 