Ode to Ecchymosis (In Name)

The feeling that makes candles bow where webs of silvery spiders lay their eggs Pulling away in long invisible strands Humming as their offspring burrow To push on it and remember the clipped wings of an  imaginary griffin The mummified childrens’ books White and black and beige and tan Broken lines of infinity singing inContinue reading “Ode to Ecchymosis (In Name)”