Author: Rage Hezekiah

I become convinced of the infinite curve of love, write a poemin which you soften me like gerunds. Mea small noise, me without a mouth. I have always loved too much, or not enough. I want a home, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an openpalm. My voice is an unnamed animal in the kingdom of impossible things, and I am made by loss. I make you a…