in medias res we had our inception. in a radius, meshed, came each new conception. the middle of things is in, as seen when what once surrounded is swallowed—and as much, when the flavor of a flower’smoke is followed. in a desert…
Lady Liberty let down her hair first thing after setting down torch and book. her crown she cradled for a moment, then let fall without a second look. she slipped from her robe and, skyclad and sun-kissed, she dove into the sea…
we have all our legs today. this is a good kind of news. sometimes, when we go out to play, we come home with the blues. once, Milo told me he was scared of spider’silk. that’s respectable. me, i’m mortified to say…
she was traveling, tracking an ambulant ash, when her trail was derailed by a swift silver flash. she sank her staff into the snow, seeking with her seven sights. the white-barked birches began to glow; the forest filled with lunar light. she…
with lion head and linen red, her blood runs hot, her clothes run thin. her rosettes are rosetta. her skin is her skin. she carries the snake and vulture. hers is a catabolic culture. her seven hundred statues and the rite of…
how the rake repented when he saw how his casualty cried: swan lake, swan’s ache, first swansong i’ve longed to take: what i have made, let me unmake; what once i wished, i now forsake. how the wrongstress, wise, replied: fired, wired,…
the fee is neither hair nor father’s bones, not feather or a kiss or a firstborn promised. what he takes is money. he who deals in this kind of curse is frugal, pragmatic, and gods help you if you think it might…