….
I rode on, the image sketched on my eyelids.
A thick wooden frame and heavy paper, trees and the golden light of the afternoon.
The girl with the happy curls and the sad face squirting her uterus onto the world,
the traces of another non-birth….
….
I rode on, the image sketched on my eyelids.
A thick wooden frame and heavy paper, trees and the golden light of the afternoon.
The girl with the happy curls and the sad face squirting her uterus onto the world,
the traces of another non-birth….