I dont know nothing about the inadequacies of carpet. Tech trait and a fair shadow. Next door we may be an ass. A story about a sponge. The needle ought not peg left. Meadow fresh full of children.

We are a group of writers and artists exploring the opportunities available to us through digital publishing.

She got the date of the party wrong. When she spoke to the police. It was 4 weeks ago, more. We try to save the beast. You just try to remember the day. Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless. Take me to church,. Help but sing along, wondering where. Pines scratch at the sky,. Jet contrails are blemishes with. Cobweb blood on the blue skin. She leaves notes in the morning.

I want to be free. Where once your finger traced lines on my chest. Now hair grows a thick forest. I tried to sell it off. But no one would have the lumber I grow. Words of fire burning all the underbrush. Greedy hands would claim the land- your hands. Built up fences all around. Now streams of tears carve out the ground.