Gutted The sky is a split gourd with pulp strewn about, clouds / seeds / crazy bird flights – are they laughing at our ineptitude? We have no plans worth saving and all that’s gooey is comfort / revival / love poem with much viscera and kisses. Share this:Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Related
