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poor soul
wrongfooted cosmonaut that final letter written on scrap paper snatched from a wastebasket along with a ballpoint pen just to try and explain how the day to day had become planetfall, a capsule zeroing in towards the places behind your ribs and eyes that separate you from the vacuum |
will d. is a nurse and occasional poet, drifting southeasterly while scribbling words under @ByThisWillAlone. Forthcoming work in Southchild Lit, Fevers of the Mind, and Dreams Walking.
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header image: Stephane Delval via unsplash
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