Sam Rasnake, a sardonic twist of fate, is a pathetic excuse for a poet who once dreamed he was a human who dreamed he was a teacher who thought he could play guitar. Along the way - a soul-mate, two children - one collection, Necessary Motions; three chapbooks, Religions of the Blood, Lessons in Morphology, and Inside a Broken Clock. He even thinks he edits a magazine - Blue Fifth Review.
8 comments:
Oh oh oh oh ... I LOVE this!
Thanks, GG.
wow, that's a beauty.
Merry Christmas, Sam!
Merry Christmas, Sam!
CE
Merry Christmas, Sam.
Buon Natale & Felice Anno Nuovo!
That's what I call a snowglobe!
Saw your poem in East to West! Congrats for good work in a good publication.
Have a good Christmas!
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