Weightlessness is so often a traitattributed to clouds on the horizon.And yet, when I look upon them, they have a heft to them, rolling gray.There is mass in the distance, and itbrings with it the...
If I climb the mountains of words set forth by the greats before me, would I suddenly find those pages in my possession? Perhaps if I were instead a fish, I could see coral and...
Eyes closed, listeningTo the gurgle of the fish tankTo the violin someone plays a room overTo the faint wind chimes singing in the sunTo the fainter screech of brakes of the train coming inTo her...
A child is long black hair, identified by ribbon-bound braids amidst the remains of bones shattered of blood splattered of flesh scattered in the rubble heap she once called home. Two more closed eyes under...
