I feel guilty. In the darkness of the night, I’m gutted with my privilege and toss and turn on my bed.
Read MoreIt is all for the kiln - the gown as discreetly
and secretly brought every night in her bed
and wore her down—burnt.
She contemplated the only boy I ever actually wept
and ever prayed for: a bitter hawk-nosed Southern prayer
for [ ] was so plentiful and so ‘weekend-only.’
Love at first is not the person. Love is not an end but a process.
Read MoreLeaving the waters of the worried. The firmament to bring light, to plough the earth and perish
Read MoreTroubled Young Man fears that he is disconnecting from reality due to his newfound ability to reference and cross-reference everything he sees and hears to something he has seen or heard in the past.
Read Morea human act of becoming, a condition flowed from moment and the soup of letters to the blissful trinity for love of my confessors.
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