Kites — O at the Edges

Kites Will viewpoint shift with my spine’s slow compression, or will this window admit only true images in the shortened days to come? I pencil phrases on bone-shaped kites and release them to the afternoon. Call them prayers, name them moans. Each string is a regret freed, a separate skeleton, let go. My two selves […]

via Kites — O at the Edges

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