When words failed him, he coughed--
But those plegm yellow sounds got the braille
From the lungs so the tongue could be read aloud.
He did what came natural, next:
Shot a white eye into the pond's air, and watched it
Over the stock divot, disappearing in flapping ink--
The indentations rose to places where they
Could recite their iliads in clouds.
(He thought if only his wings would touch the infinite watertips.)
Name That Trauma:: Alex M. on a Crying Baby and a Victorian Doll - Hi there, Terrific site. I was wondering if you could help me with a half-remembered TV-based trauma from my childhood. My brain’s telling me it was a scen...
14 hours ago