rushing running like broken machines perpetually; the chase within, further away. silence is loud and unbearable we cannot stop. running. I am done with this. there is nowhere to get to. running ourselves dry into bare bone into skin into an old age lacking substance where is there to get to? the sweet dissolving intoContinue reading “done with this”
"May my body be for what it was intended: an expression of Your grace. And what small ways I make with this poetry – what songs and friendships I form, what migrations and ripples I disturb in the world – may they have something of Your signature on them"
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