The way my throat produces thick smoke Mimics the churning of waves from that dark fog Along this natural wonder the stone seagulls have fled.
By Ann Crafterabout 3 hours ago in Poets
My body is heavy My mind is budgeting My will is steadfast It’s all restructuring I carry the weight I balance the scales
By Ann Crafter13 days ago in Poets
the multitudes They are multiplying And am I shocked to lose touch? I need to ask myself several times what I meant last night
By Ann Crafter2 months ago in Poets
This cookie is an assassin sent to murder me The air is too loud I can see through the hole in my ceiling when I sleep
By Ann Crafter3 months ago in Poets
