think of names like mantras, now unspoken, now rotten, in the recesses of old pulled teeth.
scratch at bug bites. lick them. who has touched me there?
is it the old touch or the absence that itches
when a voice in the night is thinner than radio
"goodnight" not even so warm as a blanket
I hurl myself into cold rivers, old depths, but one can't drown in thought
not peacefully.
Hi,
ReplyDeleteI'm looking for writers and artists to read their work for LIVE (which is a radio show partnership with Kelly Writers House and WXPN), I don't make the final decision but I've really enjoyed your writing so would love to suggest your name (having said that, can I have your name and contact information?)
you can send me an email at aelita.parker@gmail.com - really hope you do!