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hidden things.

everyone has secrets hers are buried in fields where buttercups weep because the sun hasn’t graced their faces in far too long everyone has stories hers bloom along the lonely river, beside the winding road, on a path of stardust lined in daisies and dandelions...
dip-dyed prose for darkened skies.

dip-dyed prose for darkened skies.

messages transported by a knot of sparrows across the spectrum of colors we ride on the backs of a birdsong and melt into the fire of tomorrow, souls ablaze in the flashpoint  of the words we were too afraid to share we’re crossing lines and time zones  as they swim...
Artful Insanity

Artful Insanity

  Time stops, a random occurrence, while we collect our thoughts (I think we’re lost) but, maybe not Maybe, we’re found, caught between figments and notions of fiction and reality as we spin tales for other’s eyes (such greedy spies, they gobble...