Written by Brian Hardie
you are the wing, the clipping of flight, a walk down the edge of night, my black tar on aluminum won’t corrupt enough insight. A description of the ruckus relinquished the head. a breeze tied to the bed. Found while grace was giving to need. You severed the limbs from within, bled onto the soft turf of the playground where the fog is slithering, bound to the slide where he slid and hid the kindling…
Text © Brian Hardie
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