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My Thistled Thoughts

Poetry // Prose // Personal Passages

“… every flower seems to burn by itself, softly, purely in the misty beds; and how she loved the grey-white moths spinning in and out, over the cherry pie, over the evening primroses!”

— Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

Latest from the Blog

The Miracle

“The miracle wasn’t that the statues were crying;
It was in the amount of people who undoubtedly
believed that they were witnessing one.”

Harlequin Frames

while deciphering spatter, I remember
your squinting, your pondering,
& the magnetics of twiddling fingers

Postcard

There is no
resolution
or solution
when a ghost
hops time zones

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