Poems from savanna.carlson.12
Skirt ironed, blouse pressed, a porcelain lady of perfection at its most extreme.
Potential, they murmur, potential. Add a bow to the...
He doesn't know it yet, but he's dead.
Somewhere between his father teaching him to fish and the birth of his first child, his soul...
Staring into a mirror, clutching onto hopes and dreams and thoughts in a desperate attempt to avoid dilution.
I wish, I wish, with all...