tankaMy Sun. He burns like a star, brilliant and maniacal- no sense, just plasma fueling his childish fury; a white hot war on nap time. © Nancy Botta, 2018 Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Standard
poetry, tankaCoping. You left for some time, ages, long enough to hurt but I’m OK now— day drinking with Nemesis, starting small fires at night. © Nancy Botta, 2018 Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Standard
