A poem a day, every day in April. In the palace of the open sky. Salty abandonment in the sacred house. This is the cure for the stains of salt. The salt which clings to the last rank. Is naked and is dreams. My memory is a filing system. Organised by the work-experience girl. On a Friday afternoon in the winter. With the lights on the blink.

Life through a Literary Lens. Raised in Middle-of-Nowhere, Minnesota, currently living in Minnesota just outside the Twin Cities. Cloud State University from August 2009 to December 2014; earning a degree in English with an emphasis in Literature, with a general GPA of 3. 33 and an English major GPA of 3. Great at managing chaos without going insane.

The Trace They Wished to Leave. A new look at Yiddish folksongs. January 28, 2013 in Uncategorized by Sebastian Hayes. My mother, I swallow the resin from the old trees. And it feels good flowing in my veins. It is the destiny of my birth. Amongst ballads chanted round a bonfire. You know how the sorrow is always new.

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