Nothing here to be had.
And let the dance begin
He mounts Ego. That winged ass.
. . .running riot through red rooms.
This world is hard and heavy. Most often darkness rules; but in the sunlight somewhere sings every bird with broken wings. Broken Wings is part of an… Read more “Broken Wings by John Holland”
The sky is indigo and indignant.
As she dances she sings with sweet sickness of her lost love.
I knew a sea once
Wear me for a brooch.