My minds eye,an oasis where the final petal is caught in the wildfires,foregrounding my inner complexities,a make-up of my day-to-day state of mindtwisting and twirling,causing a downpour of sentiments;coiled winds of thought –a spiraling attempt at illuminating my mind.A poem can be a dream,whirling around an idea or, entirely avoiding it –my poems behave like dreamswhere patterns of thought drift through watery eyes, drawing on the unconscious in hazel cindered minds eye.
-Riley Catherine Magill
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