Without them here.

To stir in grit,

And feel the motions

Of empty greenhouses,

And clumsy glass

I have a forest,

For a rotten angle

My ribs a mailbox,

Addressed to send 

A heady thought,

To strangle.

To purchase prints and merchandise:


Categories: Art, WritingTags: , , , , , , , , , , ,


  1. my ribs a mailbox
    addressed to send

    –that’s excellent. Jealousy-inspiring.

    Liked by 1 person

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