Tears and tickets
Their ticket to leave was their hollow eyes, shrapnel, a toddlers coffin and the black milk served at dusk They left with passports signed by muzzle flames and rape. They […]
Their ticket to leave was their hollow eyes, shrapnel, a toddlers coffin and the black milk served at dusk They left with passports signed by muzzle flames and rape. They […]
How the wayward wind is let || to whirl your golden hair When not even moon can move you || I´m a mortal to your gaze You’re its raven — […]
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis