Hurst Impressions, prose poetry
Sketching Hurst Impressions with My Long White Cane My eyes tell lies and shutting them, often, is the only way. Otherwise, shapes melt into point-blank headlights, full-beam, and then – boo! – loom out loud colours, or pulsating zigzags of eye-splitting. Some shapes speak, some stand quiet, and... Sign in to see full entry.