Coming to Terms with Sobrietyphotograph by Matt Mooney My words seem looser, Harder to hold. Like grainy sand that slides between your fingers. You lay down to feel...
A Shelter without Edgesphotograph by Matt Mooney Curled fists, I resort to baby talk. it’ll be okay. it’ll be okay. I don’t swat at bees, anymore. Ever since...
Spring AirParticles, or fragments, settle inside my chest. The wind knocks my door as if I’m expecting someone. Invisible loneliness, I’ve heard...