A man is pulled into a wild current, and emerges more curvaceous than he went in.
Needles pierce fabric, thread pulling tight, creating and mending.
Between drowning and dreaming, between bed and abyss, something is being stitched.
Something is unraveling.Can a Wall Street refugee find peace in a hut by the sea?
How do you grieve being born into an army?
Praise for the beings in my life.
There’s a river running through us, every time we drink and pee. It carries shame, blood, joy, songs.
possible.
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