Poetry, essays, musings by Cat Weaver
Autobiographical Poems, Humans I have Known, Fiction, Rants, Moth, Camera Man
by Cat Weaver Mr. Koenig’s assumption that Philip was lying somehow crept into Philip’s face and made him wear it like mask of shame. He could feel himself sweating, his eyes darting, his mouth twitching downward at the corner. He had attended the stupid pointless idiotic “Baroquen-in” music concert; was able to answer some of…
I find that I need, lately, to gather what I’ve built.