Archives: Wednesday, January 17, 2018


That you said once over eggs the same bird   neither blind nor striking disappointed us all   Yet again here I mourn debt’s sorrow:   an occupant pressed into proper silence   whey veins curled in sheets await the occasion   yearned to be pinned by anything at all     The Daily Post:

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Janie, hand in hand with Chloe. In my memory, I can’t see their faces because they’re walking away, but I know they’re happy. It’s early June, the morning air fresh with  last night’s rain and the miles of fresh farmland in every direction. My girls are so excited they start to skip down the midway.

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