Secrets By Lola Ridge.

Secrets infesting my half- sleep… did you enter my wound from another wound brushing mine in a crowd… or did I snare you on my sharper edges as a bird flying through cobwebbed trees at sun-up carries off spiders on its wings? Secrets, running over my soul without sound, only when dawn comes tip-toeing usheredContinue reading “Secrets By Lola Ridge.”