
Coping With Grief
The Speed of the Body
In the paroxysms of grief I fall to my knees lean into the couch face buried in a cushion, wailing to a nameless god. The
In the paroxysms of grief I fall to my knees lean into the couch face buried in a cushion, wailing to a nameless god. The
I remember times when Truth was inscribed in capitals, like the opening lines of an illuminated manuscript its compulsive fantasies emblazoned in the tinted ink
I’m wearing old shoes and will for a while yet the grief still holding close. Sometimes when the longing for a single living thing overcomes