This park closed hours ago. And everyone has since
Disappeared behind the curtaining ripples of voting booths.
Even now, aimless and undecided, I imagine the tepid poetry
Of reason. The sensations flee.
An evening purse of birds and blackened greenery slouches--
It is yawning, as it prepares to sleep.
Traumafession:: Reader Clegane on Aguirre, the Wrath of God - Greetings from Ukraine! I’m a long-time lurker of your amazing site and want to tell my little story of Kindertruma and TV. I was eight and was alone at ho...
3 days ago