Darl, JW Burns
Diane Corson, The Rolling Red Sea Darl gone. Sunset stripteasing mud, ruts buttering what was a field of wildflowers, honey with derelict whiskey breath oozing from broken figurines; an oak tree bunions pulsing hangs over whats left to barter, the sky still blue, ATV odor the robe of the prophet. ________________ JW […]