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Wingless

by on Sep 16, 2016 in Poetry | 1 comment

i. Wings burst from my back when I was ten years old. It was genetic, passed down through my father’s heritage. Thick, dark feathers grew from my shoulder. My classmates pointed. My teacher told me I was mythology, said I needed a doctor. My brother called me Crow, asked me when...

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Minotaur

by on Oct 22, 2015 in Poetry | 1 comment

Despair is suffering without meaning. —Viktor Frankl As the man slit the bull open, black blood sputtered from its mouth. He raises hide, peers within, and removes stomach and heart. He laughs and hauls a naked woman out from the barn, her wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. She is...

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