She spent too much of her youth trolling the vitamin-deficient marshes and saccharine prairies of her dreams. Malnourished, cancerous, her eighty-year-plan was saturated with the all-too-bright hues and pinball machine clicks and whirrs that the imagination creates for uneducated guesses. "When I have my own house one day, I will plant a garden," ( Read more... )

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Even on the furthest limbs of the night
//shortest buds of the morning//
The incessant banter of the locust
Thickens the violet air.

The way a violent roar
blasting from a lightning bolt in the sky
and folding into giant bowls of thunder
-is a start contrast

To the horizontal straight razor
Made of paper
That slices through the clouds,
That of the insects.

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( don't read )

( chapter ten )

( chapter nine )

( chapter eight )

( new )