I. Cranberry cranberry Van nearby hands of god— Given Ron Livingston Wrong bitters, gone with his sled, Bong giving head. II. Honored,...

the darkness begins beyond the horizon forming a choppy skyline beneath your lash line upon blinking the singular cilium parading as a...

my God is not a man in my mind He can’t be anything. for i can’t comprehend what would lie at that edge of Knowing could forgiveness not...

aa aum aa aum ba bum ba bum ca cum ca cum da dum da dum ea eum ea eum fa fum fa fum ga gum ga gum ha hum ha hum ia ium ia ium ja jum ja...

this swollen september grazing against hurriedness and possession. walking past half-gnawed apples made my stomach bright with nostalgia....

I hold no ill will towards my thirteen doppelgängers. Their minimal existence is a piece of me now, Each another collected story this...

baby angel teeth bath tiles shiny and stacked in a row inside a velvet-lined silver tin with a name engraved on the top the...

catching a robin as a promise (a birthday in may is so fortunate) a small porcelain face presses through the stained orange slats of a...

window from the kitchen—dust laden—contemplates a garden with blooming snowdrops, waking spring heavy pebbles, paper wasp, upstream the...

Asterion (the starry one) lays on the sand-gritted floor of the third room along the fourth southwestern corridor of his labyrinth and he...