Accidental Movements

Words are spilling, flipping onto the floor, bouncing around while the light pours in unchecked, someone hit the sun today, cracked the plasma without thinking about what could happen. Words are spilling, tumbling along the floor, following the pattern of the tiles, removing grass stains and mud, but you haven’t heard them, have you? They don’t make any sound, they have lost their extensions, lost their core, shifting and spilling on the once grassy, muddy floor.


Andrea Moorhead




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