Due South
A troop of Echoes
Hollow and creeping gradually toward the edge
It was watching them
We fill up our senses suppressing its presence
Tulips beneath the snow
When a madman appears thoroughly sane it is time to wrap him in swaddling clothes
Blow tiny dandelion parachutes into the ear
Peel cakes of mud from eyelids
fleeing
Nobody’s home
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Author:
3 Crows (
Offline) - Published: January 6th, 2024 16:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Offline)
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