matfriends

dispatches from THE ITALIAN NOVEL


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  • Marine

    The soundful surf Thunders under the eye Of the mourning moon And thunders again, While flashes Savage and strange Rip the ochre sky With long, clear slashes, Each tear, Like a spastic leap, Comes and goes Along the reefs, gleams and screams And in the heavens, Where the tempest turns, Thunder crashes Like a great… Continue reading

About Me

No one writes out of desperation. It’s too difficult. Writing is always an act of hope.