Author: leona allen
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#029: To Futurity (a landay)
Dare to dive into the depths of you Let sound be muted by silence then softened by sighs
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#027: Tack Stains
On the wall that supports my desk My hands, my head There are etchings of flies drawn by phantom children (Or post office own-brand white tack If we were in the business of being honest) White tack used to hold up A scratch (no sniff) map of the world That kept collapsing to the ground…
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#026: Syllabic Verse Play (1,3,9,6,8)
Palm Simple psalms Against ones chest, a talisman or Balm to aid her unrest Apologies, for I digress . She Sips her tea Stands, then sits to read, to distract from Her fear of the present Moment only eclipsed by the . Pit Earth, tomb, crypt Her pools of azule begin to dim A grim…
