Wednesday, February 1, 2023

September 2019

  hand washing apples are crimson like the faces of children who exit their births breathing as fire, raptured by still tears. she was a silence of horror the venom of encroachment tearing up like wind a tunnel of thought I am only left to this fanatical flaw centuries of madness, tearing at the curtains. like Shakespeare’s army ants actors in drag, frightened wraiths isolated...