“What’s next?” he queried.Painfully awkward silence“Who knows.” she sighed.
a prose poem
for Poetry Snippets Giftaway.
I woke up on a Sunday and it wasnot yet summer when I remembered you;your…
The portrait had a chip; Judgemental JudyKnew she was no good. Way too late. Grandpaasked his clock. Who left who? Clock shook its…
My head is a glitch. It loops the same as his, even though he never mentions it, just drags on a cigarette. He’s a bit of…
