What does man say of his eminent death, when he follows his fate with a quavering breath? Does he mutter a truth to his comrade beside? Or swallow his fate as he grapples with pride? -Amy Struthers Image by: James Kovin
From the ground we lap the springs, that feed our vein and fade our wings and drip into a dust we sweep, as held by time in stills we keep. -Amy Struthers Image by Nathaniel Chang
The Death of a Popsicle
Ladies and gentlemen, if I may so say a few more words about our friend, who met her end when sat by famished birds: She lived a spotlight life you see, too sweet to be ignored, that’s why through panegyric, every cockroach states they’re floored. A model in the making when to Phoenix, she was…
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