Thursday, May 27, 2010

Solo Flight

The people who are your people leave you. A matted feather, you, unfloating, hollow at the core. Say not a word and stay for the drinks, hope the spirits spread you apart, a plumage to dry on the wind.
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Reader (and fine writer) sends me first feedback since publication of OBLIVION ANGELS

Got an email recently from a writer I published at Poverty House last year and asked if I could share it. Here it is; it speaks for itself. ...