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Author: Thomas Morgan

Thomas Morgan

Untitled

Whenever I tune my guitar, You. Whenever I look at the stars, You, My heart is scarred Threw My vision blurred Me I don’t know why I hurt. Against your...

The Lecturer

You collected our eyelashes in jars Hoarding our stolen wishes for yourself Starving like birds, mouths opened wide were ours You fed us your doctrine, first book...

Intricate Language

This is not a poem. This is my acknowledgement that a problem exists within...

Free

Your fingertips trace the line of my spine and I shiver with an unexplainable,...

Desire

So that’s what it feels like to completely stop . . . And think for just...

Swimming Lessons

I do not know how to put the happy back in my head how to stop the...

Here Lies Caesar and His Men: Worshipped, Lost, Magnificent, Doomed; Homesick but not Forgotten

All this happened both forever ago and about a half a second since, in a...

Empty Ovens

The smell of ash and winter clung to her stockings like the babies her husband...

The alt-nah

A silent political fringe so low-key they’ve never actually been classified....

Red Bullet

She was a flame. The hot red poker was always cracking down on my fingers as I...