I don't know if your silences are calm seas or contained storms. If your eyes hold constellations or eclipses. If you are made of mornings that repeat themselves or nights that reinvent themselves. But in this not knowing, there is poetry. Because the...

Annie Purpose tried to inhale whatever air stroked her limbs - their skin chilled as the flesh on a butcher's slab laden with mottled carcasses brought mere moments before the interior of a slammed freezer door.Numbed as was -...