There was a phantom residing in
the red wake of our afterglow.
As it was above, it was
just the damn same below.
A blood opera
manifesto.
Calypso.
Merlot.
Crow.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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