Prose: “— Soft-Skin Darlings of the Tundra (1),” by Ami, Published in Vallum Mag (19:2 | OPEN THEME 2022)
a when is [human] only when still/“alive” to the naked eye. Our menace’s specter-rose rise-rises poetic, enveloped by sweet-tooth/teethed fiends of possibility, non-noxious toxicity. Sure, writing about others — those choking, loathing others — is a somewhat ongoing train of deep-seethed/seep-seethed strain or straining. Inertia nursed needless is still no reason to cease. Language breathes best among torque-thrummed wind chimes.