Poems and songs by james arthur casey. As the missiles speed to their target. A sense of panic sets in and takes hold. The weight of fear slams me to the mat. Bathed by a strange rust tinted hue. Held down by strong arms I feel the bee sting my leg.

A compendium of half-ass writing. Sunday, November 2, 2014. Incident in a Pixie Band. A lot of reasons to go home to Iceland, as if they needed any besides the food. The pixie band was pushing three-quarters of the marching journey across the ocean when Big Jim Pixie turned around and scolded Billy Joe the trombone player.