My birth father left me a leather switch. It’s the kind used for striking livestock. I think he used it…
stories from a liminal mindscape
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Oiling the Day Burn
Asphalt dreams, sticky oil thoughts clinging to sunbeam actions, stain with night pitch light tasks.
OwW1
I checked the robotic mouse that was waiting on an X taped on the floor. Okay, my owlish friend, time…
