Like ribs
of a broken umbrella
fingers are
just bone dressed
with a bite
of flesh, cold in
their independence
until hand finds
hand, those negative
spaces filled,
the always-wanting
comforted.
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Selected Poems & Photos by Seth M. Lewis
“When I Come Home” I get this feeling when I come home. It’s the feeling That I got- Today: when I crossed the Red River barreling toward Ja...
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