American Culture · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Manuscript · Passage · Poetry · Unpublished

Brennan Sprague

Flash aimed at the soul; camera arrowedinto a vista of dark trees. And the lightreveals nothing—only a gnawingstrangeness. And it’s hard to see,and the grief is so arcane it seemsit existed since the crush of the first ocean’sfirst wave, and so new, it seems it’s readyto burst from the earth readyto devour all of time… Continue reading Brennan Sprague

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