A painting of a city in a crowded room
where an old Russian man, neck bent, yells for silence.
that city, a slanted word in a private book,
read during a plane’s descent. An English man,
his biker’s tan, congratulates my independence.
A two-page exchange in a different book entirely
where the city exists like a dream,
a mindless ideal for a runaway kid.
Life brings me closer to you The divine says, here is the thread And every time I wield the scissors Making the decision to untie the...
can he have one here and there and everywhere, at each restaurant, at the pool, at the river where we felt free, but most importantly we...
Around the world in only five different expressions, inflections, intonations! In the backseat of a dark cab in Portland, Oregon. Go...
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