Storms Above
The biting rainwater dripping down my back melds with something deeper, some knowing. The crow is still here.
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The biting rainwater dripping down my back melds with something deeper, some knowing. The crow is still here.
His scissors are soaking in soapy water. She turns and almost stabs him in the belly. He jumps back.
Pandemic poverty more floods and fires and here and there a Machiavelli who can smile and smile and be a villain.
In the attic stands a cardboard mansion. I can relate to this wallpaper, slowly coming unglued inside this house.
A haiku is a very brief Japanese poem of 17 total syllables in three lines. Line one is 5 syllables, line two is 7 syllables, and line three is 5 syllables.
She gave her life to art while her lover was tortured in the wing. My father would stare at the long avenues ahead.
She held on, the nurses marveling at her tenacious strength. They declared that she was not letting go quite yet.
Anticipation is vulnerability. The looking-forward to small pleasures was getting him through these dark days of lockdown.
where the humanity around me dissolves into bodies and the humanity within me dissolves into mind.