The ramble that we made across the downs
through copses, fields and meadows, when the days
were turning copper, and the warring winds
blew both our thoughts and hair in disarray,
when in a...
Scruples # 2
I paint, draw, and write every version of myself
I am the subject that I know best
Do you really see me?
Will you know I was here?
My soul is like a broken piece of pottery
Slowly repaired by...
cicada lands on my head
i scream like a little girl
senryu: threshing oats
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