The shadow Elves lowered their weapons.. I could not read their minds.. They moved through the wind and forest like shadows.. Without sound, voice, or soul.. They all approached at once toward Ri and I.. I then lowered Ri to the ground and told him to stand at my side..

" My name is Solen, these are my brothers, Rias, and Breen.. We hail from the city forest of Scrioux.. Our Tri was sent out to hunt down a wyvern and bring back its scales. They're great healing properties within the scales that we extract from them. We had been following the wyvern for 3 weeks. They roost atop Mount Razis.. But for some strange reason this one never returned, and we tracked it back to this dark forest. We then saw the encounter you had with the wyvern and also saw you eliminate the wyvern altogether. You then proceeded to consume the entire wyvern which in turn failed our mission."

" I do not have no ill will toward the failing of our mission."

I then saw the helmets of the Shadow Elves light up in patterns. I felt as though they were studying me somehow. The strange spears they were holding before had a strange way of retracting into a small cross like object. It was very amusing to watch. The shadow Elf places his hand at the center of the spear all while sliding his thumb up making the spear into the small cross. They then hung them on a ring that seem to be part of their strange armor. The light patterns in their helmets finally faded. One Elf turned to the other with a look of confusion. Solen then spoke once again all while doing the same trick with his grand bow and retracting it into a small silver and golden circle.

" Where did you come from? And why are you watching over these humanas?

I suppose the humanas were the villagers.. These Shadow elves have been watching me for a long time.. I really had no way to speak to him.. My dragon voice would sound like a roar to him.. I then spoke to Solen with the voice of Ri..

" The dragon belongs to me. I have raised it since it was a baby.. I found him by the river.. He is friendly and protects our village.."

A lie of course.. I do not trust these Shadow Elves.. Solen then offered Ri a sort of bright fruit.. " Come now humana child, do you really expect me to believe that".. Ri took the fruit and held it close to his chest.. Solen then looked to me one last time.. " Farewell blue dragon and young humana child.. We have to hunt us another Wyvern.. "

Together they walked off and all at once they touched the crystals at their hip and faded into the air becoming shadows of the forest and river.. Ri then told me that the fruit he was holding was called Lifelo.. A thought to be mystic fruit that can heal all at once..

Robert Breen

The body moves as if Jell-O in our hands.
Intense heat makes it so small.
What was once hair
shrivels tight to the skull.
The char falls, exposes
steamed white flesh and bone.
The sweet pungent odor
stings the nostrils.
You learn fast to mouth-breathe.

We place the fetal corpse
inside the red neoprene bag.
We tighten and buckle the leather straps.
The coroner places the body on the gurney.
The chaplain makes a sign

And what about the match?
The one who sets a fire.
Is commonly called the match. 


At the station,
I hose down the inside of the red burse.
And watch the spirit of a mother’s child,
Hold tight to the bars of the floor.

Approaching nuclear winter, and I can't wait for apocalypse wine soaked Bukowski to crawl out his grave and slug it out with the man in black.
I hope they buried Bukowski in that ill fitting t shirt with his beer gut trying to escape from the bottom, and we should feel ***** for making ******* legends.

We don't.

I'm collecting bottles of alcohol on my window sill;

1 Bottle of Vanilla Smirnoff to cap off poorly cooked rice dishes and sleep dizzy at night. I killed it with a screwdriver some time after New Year's Eve, I guess.

1 Bottle of Kamora, to make a white russian, but we put most of it in egg nog and then watched Neil Breen speak out loud what he should have kept to himself, and we ****** on my couch to see if my room mate would walk in on us, and we fell asleep like that and woke up with sore necks. I stuck that flower you stole inside the bottle, and now it's plastic neck wilts a little more in the sunlight and radiator every day.

1 Bottle of Espolon, but it was filled with more *****. She brought it last time we saw each other and we watched some anime and I made everybody smell the ***** that smelled like pure sugar. I don't know what you see in me, but I hope you stop.

1 Bottle of Copa De Oro to round out more nights with the only drink I can fix well, walking through feet of snow to sleep early and wake up late. I'd play with your hair and skin and watch you fall asleep and wake up at all times of the night, and I'd wake up just to do it again, because this is my dream.

A single can of Pabst Blue Ribbon, stolen from my room mate. I thought I was clever without trying too hard, I keep washing all her dishes and she repays me with a messy living room and a sink full of dishes. Living like this is **** and we get along just fine.

I hope someone gets that ******* Alex Jones with a bat to the side of the head, and buries him in a rose garden, as long as we're still fighting fascists and not trying to hold hands and sing "Kumbaya".
I think, I hope, we're all tired of holding our breath.

replicas oft go on display
reproductions of the real thing
recast in an aping array
ripping off the principle's ring

every now and then they'll be seen
espousing that they're genuine
e'en taking credit for the breen
ergo this be not of true line

verily stealing other's word art
very little conscience do they show
villains are those of thieving cart
vilification we pour on their glow

eyes on the look out always glean
embezzling plagiarist's grotty hands
ever looting original bean
endlessly making phoney grands

There was the backfield tandem of Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davies on several West Point football teams of the UOS.

There is that power hitting duo of the modern day Yankees - Gary Sanchez and Aaron Judge.

There were those great power hitters of the 70s, I believe, that seemed to come in clusters like Mike Schmidt, Breen Downing, and yes, I believe, John Milner.

There was, of course, Ruth and Gehrig that stood out on the 1927 Yankees.

There's Hawke Leonard and James Harden, an unsung pair of the San Antonia Spurs and the Houston Rockets, respectively, in pro basketball that stand out.

There's Stephan Curry and Kevin Durant, a Mutt and Jeff combination in the Golden State Warriors.

There was a couple of gifted first to play on a University of Illinois basketball team African Americans that were tantalizing good at that time - Mannie Jackson and Governor Vaughn.

There was those 4 great old time Boston Celtics guards; Bob Cousy, Bill Sharman, K.C. Jones, and Sam Jones.

There was Bill Bradley and Dave Debusschere manning the wings of the New York Knickerbockers pro basketball teams of the late sixties, I believe.

There was Ron Kissinger and Glenn Becker, the keystone duo on the Chicago Cubs of the sixties, I believe.

There was Mainstay, reliable pitcher for the Casey Stengal dynasty teams - Vic Raschi and Allie Reynolds and there were great teamsmen of Vince Lombardi's pro football Green Bay Packers Super Bowl team like Dave Hammer, Forrest Gregg, and Boyd Dowler.