Milton Acorn

I’ve Tasted My Blood By Milton Acorn

If this brain’s over-tempered. consider that the fire was want. and the hammers were fists. I’ve tasted my blood too much. to love what I was born to. But my mother’s look. was a field of brown oats, soft-bearded. her voice rain and air rich with lilacs. and I loved her too much to like. […]

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