• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 01
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Tiny Island of I

The noise of rain slants the roof, and in
tiny island of I played in loops
tingles all of the dark I've ever sinned.

I hid underneath Pa's table with
sheet shifting focus from the outside —
and thus I have been growing up, scared, beat.

The island of one. I lead the pack.
A howl of none, and all unladen,
a bit shattered. I build walls surrounding

and I see bugs crawling up; my island
and yet I coup against my fences
frightening myself who abhors changes.

Rain noise slants the timber and table.
The treble and trouble gambles with
my nerves. My island sinks, rises. Now and then.