A poem
I’m growing my nails — long and slender,strong and sharp.Then they’d smoothly reach…
The hours, ah, the hours.Why would the hours, defenseless and purekeep offering to me?
Do I want to know? If who my father and mother madeis a reflection — crystal clear — of their genetic failings? If I was mistaken about the…
She feels it over her shoulder.Looking around there is nothing but air.Her familiar…