In Dreams, I Ride Bicycles
Written by Randy W. Plym In dreams, I ride bicycles. I don’t know how to ride bicycles. At night, I rage at finitude before…
Bahnhof People
Written by Randy W. Plym on platform eleven people stretch into gum strings; heat throbs, smoke curls, magma rises like the whole station…
A Portcullis Lowers, Days Dissolve
Written by Randy W. Plym a portcullis lowers, days dissolve into white journal pages, like sugar in grandma’s tea. the calendar is a…