L Butchart
“There are horses made of shadows, winged with the breadth of nightmares, that poets fly over the chasm of the void… Sometimes… I ride one. [then] Whoosh, like a torrent of night wind, I land, rustling what is there, looking for the light.”
L Butchart
“There are horses made of shadows, winged with the breadth of nightmares, that poets fly over the chasm of the void… Sometimes… I ride one. [then] Whoosh, like a torrent of night wind, I land, rustling what is there, looking for the light.”