Sunday Collection No. 17 The poem is space and it scars.More Like This
I am not like my little blue doll who still suckles the milk of birds.
Memory of your voice in the fatal morning guarded by a sun
rebounding in the eyes of turtles.
The light of sense goes out remembering your voice before this
green celestial mixture, this marriage of sea and sky.
Welcome Back FeatureHello All.More Like This
I'm back and submissions have officially opened again. These are a few pieces from our galleries that are part of the first art and literature feature of the new year, welcome to 2014 - the year of reworked beginnings.