by Erika Walsh I stare at myself in the mirror; press my lips into the heart of some forgotten religion. The bell tolls (and it’s…
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by Erika Walsh Otto has had too much to drink. He is cradling a white bunny in his arms. Her nose is twitching and she…
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by Erica Walsh Love doesn’t know how to play the guitar. Love only knows how to whistle to itself, on a blue night, when the…
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by Erika Walsh It starts with noses. It starts with noses rubbing against each other and turning red. The noses get drippy, so the people…