Lift the fear, like a child fallen, from a kite white forgotten
Favor the fear, like a child. Feed it a broken wing of a bread. Leave it unburied, like our dead.
The scent of fear is kerosene and cancer
Lift the fear like a child fallen from a white kite forgotten from the eyes of the cancer wind. One ached Continue reading
I believe in birds, not god. My sister believed in the priest. The priest believed in her handy, barren. The Continue reading
TIMOTEO Asturiàs is not Las Marismas. No ships, no boats, no futures sail from here. The winds billow nothing. They Continue reading
TIMOTEO Sobre la mezta, Los Pastores and the other herders know every inch & every bird of these mountains. They Continue reading
“This is my death, get your own.” Spanish “Estaba el muerte mío, no suyos. Los muértes nuestros, no tuyos. Dos Continue reading