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Around here, we don’t hold with sharpened knives. With lit candles or precarious positionings. Life is safe in dullard’s walk. Nothing’s our fault, and we love the spilt milk lament. … Continue Reading Comfort


I’m seeing more somethingsin the sighing airDistances to dramas,beatific in their flash,are shortened.Though I once feared the fear,lungs of sponge breathe it in,baptizing its fire,and I am well.I am well.