…. Ladle, ladder I lay open under the covers, under cloaks of heartless yesterdays. My mind is a string that wraps around the outerscope. I eat wild flowers, never the lamb, infused with avoidance, spectacular acrobats of keeping on, caring little for the outcome.   Blundering displays of over-dramatizing self-aggrandizement revealing the wound of stunted … Continue reading Walkways – the poem – part 11 of 16