Just as her poetry can prove dark, Graye has a black thumb...and can’t keep plants alive. But, ever the dreamer, she meanders in her heart, penning petals on page, hoping to create a meadow. She is thrilled and grateful to have works published at both The Rye Whiskey Review and The Abyss
We're the Ezine dedicated to all things barroom. We are slightly off what others consider the norm and always the last to close the bar. If you prefer the local dive bar to the glitz of some overpriced club then you're our kind of people. So welcome grab a drink and enjoy.
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Misinterpretated By April Ridge
The things heard in a loud bar when the song changes… a lull in the roar of sound, voices that were drowned in the loudness now underlined b...
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I write while I drink. Or drink while I write. It’s like entering a void To create from nothing. Wrestling in the mind. Will it come, will i...
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eat a shroom smoke a joint sing a song read a poem try to think differently today than yesterday evolve or deconstruct not sure which one...
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near the on-ramp of I-10 in Crowley, Louisiana we unload our band equipment into the back of Gozzlebeck’s not the real name of the bar but a...
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