“I do not know if hurt is my birthright”— Jason B. Crawford knuckle withholds an English suffering, clenched in fierce strain. my unsheathed hands, hurled spacelike, knifing a worship. there…
20.10.20 there are no rules except those against protests. the silence came for us before the bullets. every wound devours itself. dark green molds in the lips culturing a system…
A piercing through the dark In the face of darkness, this secluded space is a pathology likewise to live alone in it. My heart keeps failing in bits, as the…
Roots Love grows in the evening Dies at dawn There is not enough prophecy about hearts How it can become vapor Fighting for space in the sky There are many…
I sleep in laps. Wake up, rest from sleep like resting from work, then return to sleep-work.What is this shadow that follows me in the dark, despairing when the switch…