Title:
E ch oes are little more than a longing for constancy, bitterness toward f o r w a r d movement. Tresses SQUEAL soft refusals, glittering like surgical blades. Fuck the stucco. Something's dying here. Best allocate assets elsewhere. Can fantasy flash into b e i n g? Failed auditions aren't unique, "are they?" There has to be a better formula.
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 8 and 10:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.