where children cower beneath the sheets,
and sweat until in the pools of nervousness,
Harrowdown is where happiness goes to die;
and damn, it's windy.
Sadness becomes noisy business overlooking
the Miserable lake, in this nightmare place.
(Harrowdown is a parable, a children's story I'm working on. Completely unrelated to my other two current projects, Harrowdown Hill is what I believe will be the closest to something like "Where The Wild Things Are," as I'll get. Just read the poem, listen to the Beatles' "Yesterday," and be as miserable as a child going to bed alone and frightened. But wake up and explore the nightmare world, and realize it's all just part of the most fascinating thing children have: wonder and amazement, curiosity, so to speak. This is what Harrowdown becomes. At least, for little Tyler Grover, our main character; updates often...)