26622
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my hand is closing;grasping insubstantialair particles thatescape into my fleshypink lungs. imaginary magpies take flight fromthe runways of my whorled greymind. their wingbeats soundlike dust at the morning's end;like finality…
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100900
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"If only we could all look like that."
"Truly lovely … such a perfect face."
The gallery was busy that day.
But still the man and woman stood.
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166876
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In a plush leather chair, / high up a shiny skyscraper,
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78109
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I can only say I’m glad/
it’s not me,
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