On Becoming #6 I was dreaming, I’d climbed up onto a violent wind shaken by pitch-black dust, being swept away over a bright red spider looking for white snow, little threads, baby shoes, a bird, house. I was me. Share this:TweetPocketWhatsAppLike this:Like Loading... Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (required) (Address never made public) Name (required) Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email.
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