compressidue

compressidue

One urgent press of my crumbly stick —a drag, a mark on pulpwood fiber— and your bleached, watermark'd world is marred by my desire.

The making of my line saturates, and I Brando. I taste minerals. I maraca. I floor it.

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reconciled after 32 years

reconciled after 32 years

Everything goes. Even him. Even her. Even-stephen. Bye, you! Best goodbye!

mmm...I calm down. We will pretend this moment is forever, you and I, or I will...

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zero in

zero in

I begin each day as a negative number. I zero in.

One is a win. One is whole. One is real.

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rough Lunts like us

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fine art prints
writing by Greg Correll