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… We’re keeping secrets again – under our hats, beneath our skin, between these dot-to-dot stars. The sky’s a sigh of boundless deep, a place to chalk our whispers and our want. A haunt of hope. .. twiglets #60 … Continue reading
… A poem of question -able alignment. I am bic ker(n)ing with my own skin, beginning to find my self fallen. I am 5am and light not yet shed and salt stirring sans sea. I am three sheets ………(of paper) … Continue reading
.. The way the stars cut sharp, tinder us toward ashes, tender us worth -less. The way the fender bends into the breeze, going ever nowhere and the way the music (too loud) is still saying no -thing and everything … Continue reading