Punctuated in,
a smile, blue hour horizon
still air, a, breath out
How does it work?
I keep reading this…. Subscribed
More stories from Lorna and writers in Poets and other communities.
ushered into a wood chip lit room the smell of potato chips burning
By Lorna3 years ago in Poets
*** I have come to the realization that hesitation serves me like a switchblade to the jugular proving to be fantastically skilled at creating beautifully poetic censorship
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden5 days ago in Poets
Fuck it all Fuck it now Violence Fuck your austerity, austerity Fuck your institutional racism, racism as policy, as policy
By Paul Stewart7 days ago in Poets
They said she was ill. - Ill? What’s the deal, Annie thought. She was only 5. She spoke to angels, told them, “I want to be healthy… I want to be free.” They said, “Not yet. This is not for nothing. It has a meaning. Everything’s going to be alright.”
By Maya Or Tzur3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
I keep reading this…. Subscribed