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The Haft

The haft, a memory of what once was, dangles from a leather belt.  Tanned and stained, like its master, marching barefoot across the knotted boards of prominence, blister forth those distractions of severance.  Is it merely a coincidence to find, such harvests and malapropisms, conveniently illumined by remnants of pristine territoriality, lying dormant and abandoned beneath this temporary auburn sky?


About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

One response »

  1. Yep, got the picture – every detail. Well done.


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