By: Anna Dunsizer
I find myself gliding over an ochre sky
With the wind rushing past me, flying, falling.
With the salty smell of the sea, I ask myself why
I feel like I’m flying, falling.
Constantly searching, a wandering firefly
I know that I’m flying, falling
At four a.m. with nobody passing me by
As I’m flying, falling
And nobody asking me why
Anonymous / 12 That last day I walked those halls, I memorized, in my head, every sight and smell -- Stored it like a sacred star. And saw those vested men from afar As they began to crush and fell Th
Hannah Myers / 10 (BARE staff) I walk into the Ohio feather-leafed forest, my feet crackling with each step, the dead bodies of old green lying on top of moist-gut soil ready to be decomposed into dir
Jack Son / 12 The shape of water geometric automation of fluid vested upon all but itself unveils workings of gaia beneath and reflects essence unseen Geometric fabric of tao threads fates of predeter