S. K. Nicholas


Beneath a dream of a black moon, I wrap these words around you. Beneath a sky that’s both mirrorand womb, there’s an image in my mind of a girl against the world. She’s both higher than a mountain and as low as the belly of a snake as it slithers through blades of grass in search of someplace to call its own. In her arms, and in herkiss, there’s heaven, and there’s bliss. Down each road and past every building, there’s an ocean of shit and another face just waiting to say yes. But that moon, how it calls to you the same as it calls to me. How it watches and guides without ever doing a thing, and yet it doesn’t need to, does it? No crowds or intellectuals. No money or systems of abuse, just the act of creation and the eyes of one undressing the mind of…

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