i've been writing you a letter. about skin and bones. the internet. sometimes it begins, yesterday i saw a black bird in the park eating worms. and sometimes, it doesn't. these days it takes everything i've got not to burn down your house. rise up from these bed sheets in the morning to screaming. instead i fold paper hearts into paper birds. and other things with wings. sail them out our old-bedroom window. until collections of them. like memories of me and you. drop there on the almost-summer concrete below. false falling snow.

more letters
the train my hat this morning calls

reclaiming imogen has a piece featured today on indieink.org


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