Day 127. a daisy-print slip with pink corneas holding the petals in place. lonliness is the landing point

Day 126. the cracks speak magenta, harmony is impossible when trust is forced.

Day 125. our epilogue is your repacking: Anger: Buddhist Wisdom for Cooling the Flames.

Day 124. there’s a way to perceive the light without getting burned.

Day 123. our dialogue of desert flowers.

Day 122. sunrise bleeds its heart onto the girl's hands, and she marvels at the magnificence.

Day 121. I undress my soul for those willing to step into the room and listen with their entire being.

Day 120. pleasure seeker. uncorked. I met a boy who’d been burned by hot stones.

Day 119. anneal. split from a throat. sung up high

Day 118. Like the painting of the lover's embrace wrapped in white cloth.

Day 117. I prefer the miscalculation. I prefer progression over precision.

Day 116. Glass on glass. Make a wish before it turns to dust.

Day 115. Peaches and cream, granular. Seeds spitting silk in the rain.

Day 114. fiesta para los sentidos; a feast for the senses.

Day 113. The first person to take my head. Rebel is its own world.

Day 112. Heart like a honeysuckle stalk. Wise words from a young shaven sage.

Day 111. Throat of violets. Anonymity has its power. Clap, clap, clap.

Day 109. sloppy sun-soaked dreams: I will take my time.

Day 108. Creativity occurs between each phrase. A sketch. A line. A blob. A blur. A broken egg.