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Naked truth

On the stand is me. Much of the battered light beats shadows into my face. There is no judge, no jury. The room is empty, save for a sole typist‚Äôs typewriter that is blue on the exterior shell and a grey, hard metal on its keys. A faded wood from the Deco era panels the … Continue reading

Sled

You, Everyone knows there is no real thing as poetry, that it is effectively useless, that it fails in the practical like brushing one’s teeth or in stopping a man jumping off from the ledge, but still, during these hospital days, I think that too many are suffering from what is kept within a good … Continue reading