My Thistled Thoughts

Poetry // Prose // Personal Passages

“What a phantasmagoria the mind is and meeting-place of dissemblables! At one moment we deplore our birth and state and aspire to an ascetic exaltation; the next we are overcome by the smell of some old garden path and weep to hear the thrushes sing.”

— Virginia Woolf, Orlando: A Biography

Latest from the Blog

#OctPoWriMo Day 23

brother, you tried
again to leave me
and I think my stomach
has known this
for weeks

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