Author Information
Another White Pierrot.
I write with no rhyme or reason,
it does not matter the time of the season.
Just words of a ghost, a leaping unknown.
Comfortably seated upon a black shadow throne.
There one minute, gone the next.
Your peripheral vision will pull me out of context.
I'm no writer, this I admit.
I'll stop now, cause this is a big pile of garbage.
Exit; stage left.
