The Ghost of Branwell
Drinks Bitter at the Black Bull Everyone loves a good story, so here’s mine. You’ll say I am barking but not so moony I don’t know what I am. Their litanies could make another poem altogether. She repeated, more than once, I was the smartest man she’d known, and then she turned cold. No, not in death, she wouldn’t look me in the eyes, she sent me home. How could […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 