Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration. - Carl Sandburg
Saturday, February 6, 2016
Left to Itself the Heart Continues to Pound at Its Chest - Jill Osier
Waking I still see you working the thing of us like a difficult thermos. You turn it like even the idea of hands is new. Strange. Beautiful. Wondrous ape. JILL OSIER
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