© 2018 by Katerina Canyon
Please reload

Follow Us

February 10, 2018

My poems die at the root

at stem and bloom.

I could carry them to mass on

tops of wreaths and sing funeral lullabies.

My memories circle as melodies

around the same place, a face

That does not escape because

it hides in my eyes. I bite

it between my lips, and

I breathe it withi...

Please reload

  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square

February 14, 2018

February 10, 2018

Please reload

Recent Posts
Search By Tags
Featured Posts

Googling My Way to Hypochondria

May 23, 2018

1/2
Please reload

Archive
Please reload