on a train in the badlands

this isn’t happening, it’s not real no more so than these pages scrawled in times new roman twelve point revealing our lives better than we, locked inside the story; no this can’t be real, i’m standing on the beam- on the path the wheel, it turns page after page in twelve point font; reviled with... Continue Reading →

Thirteen seconds

Counting down, slow exhale Relaxing into position Sitting cross-legged in the dark Refusing to wobble in the light Who are you now, knocking so fervently suddenly opposed to the absence Why didn’t you say something while I was there?

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