“We folded our feathers at dawn,” Russell Karrick says in his opening poem “Delirium” [p. 1], “perched in […]
AE Hines
“Death is a nagging grit, that grain I keep / worrying furiously into the pearl of art— // […]
“We folded our feathers at dawn,” Russell Karrick says in his opening poem “Delirium” [p. 1], “perched in […]
“Death is a nagging grit, that grain I keep / worrying furiously into the pearl of art— // […]