Member since September 26, 2009 | 1,035 Readings |
In these days of / sleeping in closets, / huddled to memory / like boxed papers, / / it is to read through old notes / on apple crisp and…
This city is not my language. / Under my fingernails there / are no pink / / lines; in my walk I cross / no targets / held in blocks, gone /…
Subscribed by Ryan Clark
stories about things
…and / once your mistakes are considered / sins / you’ll be free(r) / to(o) / suffer …in your room full of laughter / / / / I’m…
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