I purr through futures blurred and thin as rain,a headline curls like yarn inside my sight—not truth, but shadow-news my whiskers claim,of Mary’s boy, just twenty-three, gone light. This is…
I purr through futures blurred and thin as rain,a headline curls like yarn inside my sight—not truth, but shadow-news my whiskers claim,of Mary’s boy, just twenty-three, gone light. This is…