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Not much to say except to warn you not to get too serious about all this, if you want to become a writer of fiction in the future. If you intend to become a critic, that is a Whale of another color…Playing around with symbols, even as a critic, can be a kind of kiddish parlor game. A little of it goes a long way.


From the gallows to the sea, I let a wave wash over me
Black clouds over The Gulf Stream

Oh, lord, we’re in distress
We made a plan, it was just a mess
We made a plan, it was just a mess...

With all our worst-kept secrets beaming on the radio
An echo of an echo of an echo
Lydia, dear, you know, you’re with me right here
I’m humming your songs into the air

From the shadows on the sea, I let the night pour over me
Sharks circling in The Gulf Stream

Oh, lord, we’re in distress
The map we made was just a sketch
The map we made was just a mess…

And I don’t know what to say
It’s a twisted chain
It’s a length of rope
It’s an open boat



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Adrian Morse Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Adrian creates songs stitched from historical yarns, literary scenes, and relatable blunders of personal experience. A veteran of countless musical missteps, unrealized bands, and aborted projects, his recent works include an acoustic LP and a series of increasingly unpopular releases with the power pop band Readership. He resides in Philadelphia and has a nice cat (who even has his own song). ... more

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