I want the world as a bakery balanced in tree pose on downtown’s right hip. I can flick a few…
Poetry
Forest Eyes Her iris smells of morning rain, Of decomposing leaves in soil. Her gaze grows mushrooms in my…
poem 1. Sometimes I wonder, are there more legs or cars in the world? Because I see far too…
On a crisp October day, my daughter is painting Nature in the kitchen by the screened glass door. Her…
I can pass an examination. I come laced up tight in my corset, Glitter floating off my body. I make…