posts-issue7

  This idea of us being one is not like how I chose us in our nothingness of touchand cream,…

Two steps aheadI choose my words wiselywhen I lose countof stained white baby blanketsphotos of my younger selfpity the smallness…

  Mournings (About A)   To See The teller told me they were premonitions, visions, not my imagination. A green…

  Tilting Towards Windmills   Perhaps there are many ways to parse a dream? As I tilt towards it, the…