When the house of flesh disappears in an earthquake of its own making, this house of wood and glass will stay fixed in its
Some women claim the blues to be a man, or some distant relative of this style of being. My mother will tell you, if
At seventeen thousand miles an hour even paint flecks are an emergency slowing my orbit and sapping the speed of each recovery that begs
it was not so much as a stray brain wave or a fleeting glance from your vagrant eyes it was not pop-tarts in the