The Room sits on my wall

It is a writing desk, a restless-night-ridden jacket hanging neatly across the chair. I see a box. A seven by ten. Typeset like a copper American font. The box is like a lawn hacker. Only the blades and the crazy are out getting coffee somewhere, and the machinery is left behind sedated. Thrumming. Waiting. I … Continue reading The Room sits on my wall

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