Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Donald Paris’

I Can’t Remember What Age I Was

when I was told, but it most likely was the same year security would trail behind me like dragged wagons through stores. Possibly, it was when my mother’s boyfriend, with his breath like yeast and hops, decided to define the word nigger for me. I stared off into the lamp in the corner and watched light seep through prisms in the shade. It might have been the year when loose […]

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