and my heart skips a rhythm that would match a footfall if I had one. All I have is this thrumming, this rhythmic roundness, this forward motion but never a
Zombie-people posed like mannequins in waxy flexibility; holding cardboard signs on corners of once-spirited, bustling streets that vibrated with life and movement. The ghosts of people who once frequented the
There is an unwelcome stranger living here A thief You’ve been living here a long time You’ve stolen from me My heart My youth My spirit Stolen from me The
after “Ms. Found in a Bottle” a short story by Edgar Allan Poe Of my country and of my family I have little to say. They have little to say
Rampant inflation chokes the life out of purse strings and auras Conglomerated mass media infiltrates our psyches with images of celebrity, fashion and click-bait news Healthcare reform is stymied by
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