Until then enjoy this moldy oldy from the archives (with a hidden toy surprise!):

Shiver me timbers and batten down the
hatches on the bow. Posiden’s
out tonight with the fire in his eyes!
Tether the rafts and
gather up the rations.
Unless I’m wrong (and I am
never wrong)
A storm the sight of which has
never been seen since
God’s washing of the
earth is the fate that
lies before us.

02/26/91

That feeling when you open up the bath
Room door expecting an empty room
But find instead your guests arrived and
You clothed only with a broom,

Or when you’re working hard away to cook
A complex, untried recipe,
And family members mumble, over-cautious,
Doubts of your sobriety,

Is nothing weighed against the red-faced terror
Of posting the roughest, most larvae-like
Spoutings of a rusty pen daily upon
One’s little-read internet site.

The smallest of crackles halted my walk.
Things twitched beyond the tree wall
Off the path through the twigs two eyes then four
Pinned me to ground. Like some opitical
Puzzle, my brain slowly decoding, the
Shapes in the forest became two white
Tailed deer. One minute. Three minutes.
Seven minutes in, a cramp strangled my calf. Still
This unequal trinity stood in percolating silence unsure
Of the protocol for just this sort of meeting.
The one deer, confident, impatient, or comfortable
Moved its neck. Raised its head. Gave a look
To its partner and walked, two steps three.
The cautious one maintained his thorax piercing stare,
Ten minutes of stillness still not convincing him. He
Turned his back and hopped over a log, white
Tail flashing against dun colored bark. I stretched
Out my calves, raised up on toes
When I then saw the third one
Scamper down the ravine to my right.