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

“Thalassophobia” featured @ A Cornered Gurl
Microfiction piece published @
A Cornered Gurl

nawayee : a poem
…like my own temple,
withering away
over many a day…

Blood in Winter
Entwined branches of
birches in the distance
are guardians of
the white fields
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