Wrapped in plastic
pillow bag, black fur drowning
under white snow fall.
I think my next pet will be a doll
who won't die if her head snaps.
Who won't painfully convulse.
A few lines from my poem "Freshly Cast Doll Heads Wait To Dry", which appears within the NEW May Issue of Hermeneutic Chaos, alongside oodles of other Poetry, Fiction, and Book Reviews!
HERE - http://www.hermeneuticchaosjournal.com/may-2016.html
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