A . T . Perkins Biography

The grass and mud smell like a marsh
as it is swept up by the gusts of warm air.
The ping of bat and ball
sends six, out of the nine
...

I swill the man made liquid
Down my throat.
What are you thinking?
How dare you gloat!
...

The field, its blanket of snow
and blinding whiteness
surrounds me.
The wet chill, the cold
...

Big Jack was strapped in
To pull the burden.
The stump was coming out
That was for certain.
...

Let me tell you friend.
...