The smell of tamarind flowers is like the smell of tamarind flowers. Empty in the how. Settings: objurgatory parents Not dead the day, dead the night, the black and white dog sleeping on the black road yelped on the approaching vehicle.
Merlin Flower writes on Indian Review.
Fabricating fury, I crossed across and stood with hands on hips. He nodded with a yellow smile. say, oops. Props to the heart, the insane mind, the insignificant life. Now, I’ve been asking, “Is the cat black or white?”
the untidy room the paintings gathering dust unfinished manuscripts kindled the conscience the spiders played football and trampoline unwearable clothes slipped to the corners the fetid bathroom slipped to everyone some lizard eggs adorned my medicines hmmm the music came in sterilized. stopgap both patients courtesy of their kidneys sat in a similiar posture the […]
Timeline, if it flows so uprising in desperate measure field filled with pretense of now. Lunged grab, the gift of ‘could all’ miss on the missed seconds, ah. Strength of the strong, here with me; chopping the refreshing deep-cut, the double edged haven of minute, creamy connected remote nearness. The price on the boundary line […]