Poems from michaela.steiner.509
Blue dotted lines, infringements and bloodied stains on dead tree skins,
Are colored in and masked by the tap of a pen.
The forest...
A stage opens full,
vulnerable to the tap tap of pointe,
piercing down into grounding earth,
her water born face is supported by a broken...
The trees he slit each bedtime are my limbs. Breathing branches laid to rest.
Spread as a tumor, Man forces lactating yield, across this...