Toujours pour la premiére fois
Read MoreWe thumbed pages by candlelight, muttered weak attempts at words, assumed dramatis personae as tragic players stroking skin like a prop, fingers lingering at sides.
Read Moremy mother presses me, pushes me, because she was taught to press a wound which bleeds, staunch the flow, she presses into my stomach, applies
Read MoreThe fan whimpers one final cry before it relinquishes the impossible task of keeping me cool. Lights flicker off and sticky air creeps through the
Read MoreSay we never went to the Dairy Queen, licked an ice cream cone on the concrete bench outside on a hot summer afternoon. Say you
Read MoreA long slim poem full of hyperbole & alliteration drifted into the wrong e-mail box. There she met an erudite rich text format file. They
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