by Robin Ray Ananda, it’s been snowing since you hand-delivered your toasted envelope of admiration, erroneous sentence for inadequate leanings through corporate transfer of isolation laying behind you.Benign guilt in powdery form, hybridizing tulips with marbled sketch books, encourages fogs of sobriety, illusions of masculinity.Upon waking, you’re hard as petrified anger; ambition – baked in a half shell, your spine-cruising Read More