What a wretch
I take solace in orange pieces
Tiny severed vaginas
The desert of my throat
I don’t mean to moan; 50 more words
Saturday is a softer day to arrive in the city.
Less honking, less sirens, less helicopters circling, less rushing, less children whining.
And yet, almost immediately, I feel engulfed by the enormity of the population here, lives stacked upon lives, in in high rise after high rise, while my closest neighbor in the country is a pond or a hill or several acres away. 256 more words