Where are you dragging me now? I've been this way before. Pain lives here. She stands in the doorway of desire. Her eyes are hollow, hungry, and her teeth are knives.
I fear she will leave us fractured, splintered, a wounded beast... that will not die no matter the damage.
Wretched monster, you insist on struggling against all hope and reason, blind to common sense-- All thought is treason. Desperately, you rage against inconstancy-- sure of Fate's final dispensation.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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Sandie Angel a.k.a. May Lu :o)