My Poetry and Prose Blogology
My Mother’s Hand
…she learned to write with her left hand—words barely legible and shaky, like prose penned in earthly tremors…
The Vanishing Point
“your digital virtual reality appears as real
or your living reality dissolves into ethers of the virtual…”
Her Last Breath
“her soft skin is drying out
withered into bronze scales
beneath a fiery vacuous sun…”