Vote for Art! Readings and commentary by TW poets, writers, and visual artists.
I want to poke around inside the brain, unroll the wrinkled cortex into a flat, creased sponge and map anger’s coordinates.
How much there is to sing of, breathless as frog at noon, a song echoing desire, our pent-up viral longing for something more than monitor.
To make something from the desires both to hold and to be held.
She grants me the ability to breathe underwater in this year of oceans.
