It is true that my attention has regularly resided in the far-off place where ‘lost’ exists — a location in which pandemonium dictates and…
The morning greets meWith both arms outstretchedAs if to sayThis is the last…
Marisol’s hands were shaking as her eyes flitted about the cavern she stood in. The dampness of the underground brick tunnel added to…
Madness sits beside\ beneath
It’s just a black and white photoof an inky black typewriter,two hands ready to type
