Updated: Nov 5, 2019
by Jake Lord '19
When I look into you, And I back at me, You reflect my being; Without a story, As thesaurus words And rhetorical quandaries only. You cast my body as Flowery prose; With pubescent pedals As budding body parts. You pose as a mere scan Of Myself; An intriguing estimation, Without context.
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