What I am saying is that my mind is eucalyptus trees on a beach while I am sleeping through another life. When I wake up crying invisible tears I can tell you there are children in them. I know this sounds sentimental, but frilly pink frosting on a cake is still part of the cake. These kinds of tears … Read more →
i. We’ve seen armchairs yarned in factories as they take away great grandmother with cancer of the lungs, a string of long fluid woven into her assembly apt for a tapestry, a long room that is woven of her memorized thread of choice. A Volta television swamp floats until breath emerges gentleman like, heated from its length of rope nerve…. Read more →
Amelia Jenks Bloomer. May 1818 – December 1894.