Mildly blamed abandon,
     a vanishing madness
     poignant over the boundlessness
     of hot yard, pagan-hearted discontent;
     of sweet man, with verbatim extreme control.

Mighty punishment out of turn
     casting the bound shrine,
     a bygone tomb,
     where indeed electricity
     arcs truly their legend.

Regional bloody faith
     itemizes the witnesses.
     Grave-wide perceptible excuses
     condemn religious humility
     with calculated infected ejaculations.

Weakness wrought out of structure
     holding dearly
     to the offending horn.
     Faltering skins swallow anything,
     downcast moonlight their restraint.

I set up this new site today. It’s my first step in publicizing myself as a writer. My wife recently gave birth to our first son (also David L. Day), and during the course of her pregnancy, as well as the three weeks I was off after the delivery, I came to realize something. I want my son to learn a lot of things about life, and one in particular is that he should never give up on pursing his dreams.

One of the things I’ve learned in life is that the best way to lead is by example. I realized that I had given up on pursing one of my dreams, one that is very important to me. Being a writer.

I’ve taken it back up. I don’t expect to become rich or famous, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make a full time living out of it. But there is no reason, nor has there ever been a real reason, for me to not be a writer. I write, I love to write, and if I happen to be good enough, I’ll make money at it.

My son should have the confidence and persistence to follow through on his dreams, no matter where they may lead.