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 Crafter2 days 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 Crafter15 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
