I don't do titles. Who has time for them? I barely have enough words for the body of the thing itself. When my mother died there was no title. When my friend escaped from prison. Then was caught. Wore his chains proudly as if badges of triumph. Shuffled in the heavy chains, but kept his back straight and eyes straight ahead like a god with a plan. Or when our beautiful ravaged dog simply lay down on the floor and died. Good God, her ashes are still in the car trunk: who in the world ever has time for titles!
Jim Moore lives in St. Paul, Minnesota and Spoleto, Italy and loves all kinds of weather including SLEET.