Wings
I would rise above the moments of descending self-doubt, but so often, alone, I am a bird with no wings. …
I would rise above the moments of descending self-doubt, but so often, alone, I am a bird with no wings. …
Wind all the way from South Australia rouses and gathers in blackwoods and old redgums, sighing for the parched …
I am adrift in an ocean of silence, sinking beneath each breath whispered over the curvilinear space she fills, leaving …
Once when the world was wizened And I was an upstart slave, shackled to my imagined savvy I fancied myself …