PenguinAttack

#11 - The rot sets in The dining room first Like tendrils of ancient fern Clawing up the plasterboard. Each moment the house falls Deeper into the mire And all ...

#10 - awake can you remember this the way his hand and your limitless potential inking listlessly into the fabric of his old leather couch and the way the cracks ...

#9 - space Unknown like so many others We crawl toward an untold future So many hands and feet grappling Flinging themselves into the unimagined.

#8 - I forgot. My mouth opened And in the end there was only In summer i collect cicadas Or would if the trees had not been cut So the ...

#3 - burden Grief is my mistress' son, I have known him in so many faces All leaning toward the light And looking away into a distance Not yet formed ...

#7 - Our meeting was ill concieved. Lying on the bank of different rivers We tried to connect through currents; The failing winds and too few sails Taking from us ...

#6 - Rapt The Rape of Prosperina, Bernini tells it apt With marble fingers Clinching tight And she the arching Bow strung far too tight. Her agony revisited In every ...

#5 - fracture It doesnt matter where you are The limits become known In the tightest of circles; Rolling in and out and together To make the parentheses That guide ...

#4 - fortuitious How the land sinks Below your bare feet On the way to the orchard. Last week the rain kept us At bay, staring through the thicket Of ...

#4 - wisdom? The well of the world Suffocates me; In the tumble waters I prevaricate (Calliope could forgive me But our mouths have never Met one another's names) Lodging ...

#3 - burden Grief is my mistress's son, I have known him in so many faces All leaning toward the light And looking away into a distance Not yet formed ...

#2 - i didn't ask for this Untie my hands now, Send forth the maids And the men And wrap my wounds In gold and fur - Are they not ...

Traditions are held! @Audy - wanna take me??

across the breadth of the world you have come to me #1 the limits in my hands articulate a function of decay that sinks sinister and whole into my marrow; ...

Why not have the baby and then put it up for adoption? I am not an incubator. I am not a box inside which the present is found.