Loudly and to nothing
It springs from the tip of me,
A congestion of ruby leaves and lips and sad rusty suns.
The coolness inches on the glands of the air.
How soon and regularly it visits with its subterfuge of
Blushes!
The Monkey
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There’s an area in our home referred to as “The Black Hole” as things tend
to disappear there never to be seen again. The notion that something
uncanny e...
5 weeks ago
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