When I was a baby, the summer filled with snow Upon closer look, the truth you would know Instead of a snow bank, you'd see a stash Shoveled in a mound of forest fire ash In the heart of Wyoming, the air would choke You'd breathe hardly air, only a thick smoke The skies darkened, in the distance an orange glow As Yellowstone burned, we gained memories of grey snow
Do you normally dislike poetry? Me too! It turns out, I like writing it, but I cringe at the thought of the stereotypical puffy culture surrounding it. If I want to smell my own farts all day, I stuff my belly with garlic and onions, thank you very much.
Anyway, if you want more poetry without all the stuffy pseudo-intellectual silliness attached, subscribe to my newsletter below. Unsubscribe at anytime. I respect your time by respecting mine. I don’t send frivolous bullshit.
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This website is mostly an archive. For all new works by me, please visit psychoSage.
Sorry, sorry! I just thought since you've been on this site for longer than average, you might hear me out?
Why do you do this to me, Ian...
Okay, okay, I'll be quick! I have a newsletter to keep you up-to-date on my content and projects. If my stuff tickles your pickle, help us both out by subscribing!
Also, I don't do anything shady or aggressive with your email address. I'll only send you the good stuff and won't share your email with any person/provider that isn't working for me to serve you better.
'Serve me better.' What deliciously vague jargon. Is this where you pretend to be me and you make me respond with a contrived form of consent because you're bold enough to assume this cute little chat interface gimmick is enough to actually get me to sign up?
Ummm... uhhh... ahh... Sign up and get exclusive discounts and early access!!!! Come ooooon! Induced scarcity is fun!
...alright, well, I'll leave it up to you.
Like this nav? It does what every marketing-oriented web designer will tell you not to do: shove as many things in your face as I can!