A.G.E's Joint

Log on World changing At the speed of light At the speed of sound As gladiators kill  In virtual stadiums Lights up Lighten up It's all in vain In the end. Artificial Intelligence is an oxymoron.  

  Buttermilk pie Golden top Creamy center Ending the evening Of family and thanks Hope to do it next year God willing And the river don't rise.

 Music is religion We tithe to see the priest Absolution for their minor lives.

  He disappeared a long time ago Chasing demons along the avenue Always scorned No empathy Sympathy A life thrown away By his own choices? A puzzle maybe It's hard to say. Just another body Sweltering in the swampy sun Hoping for alms Hoping for love

  It's been a year Since that awful night Came thundering down the gorge The spirits of the good boys The good girls Washed into the muck  The damage was too great The remains had to go Too much of a dangerous attraction To the Social Media ghouls Chasing clicks Over their Starbucks lattes. 

The old house creaked like a ship struggling against a rogue wave. Outside, the storm was an orchestral menace—rain hammered the roof in frantic bursts, and the wind howled through the narrow chimney flue, sounding less like air and more like a human sob. In the living room, Eliza huddled closer to the dying fire, but the warmth felt thin and temporary. Her gaze kept drifting to the dark, intricate doll house that dominated the corner of the room. It wasn't merely a toy; it was a museum piece, a perfect, miniature replica of the very house she sat in, built over a century ago. Tonight, with every lightning flash, she could swear the tiny windows of the dollhouse reflected the exterior storm with unsettling realism—the miniature curtains seemed to flutter in the nonexistent draft. The clock struck midnight. Simultaneously, a jarring noise cut through the relentless drumming of the rain. It wasn’t a thunderclap, but something mechanical and distorted, like music played through a br...