memories of my ghost sista

corrupt December 4, 2021 - (0)
“And the Fever is Conquered at last,” Poe proclaimed. Fevered bruise spreading; a blossom cracking with canker, with necrotic glow. Where’s the Divine in rot? It’s the problem with a poet who ignores the mundane –– After the membrane burst, flushed brackish wine spewed from your leg; and, with each squeeze to drain the blotch, […]
profundo December 1, 2021 - (0)
ten November 30, 2021 - (0)
conked November 28, 2021 - (0)
writhingly November 26, 2021 - (0)

Mobile Site | Full Site