Sometimes

   I was inside Robby’s head (from the novel On Standby) and was attempting to describe what he felt in that frame of mind while walking in the rain. These thoughts were on the page almost before I knew that I had typed them. What followed next, in the novel, was even more astonishing, considering.

   Since, I’ve added a few other poems to the end and I’ll continue to do so as time goes on. I’m not a poet, not even close. So I guess I should just call these attempts. Some of the concepts are interesting though.

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Sometimes

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