micro-nonfiction
i say float, i guess, because there is an ethereal lifting quality to the term…
a micropoem
like a plate glass moth bodybeating itself into submission,
Some don’t like to cry but I relish in this pastime.I store sorrow in my veinsfor…
The worlds furious tirade hammers down once again.Deeper and deeper I go as the sunlight disappears…
.
Have been staving off