I contemplate a thing beyond my reach and wonder, should I try to make it mine? To go once more unto that fucking breach, or, seeing the futility, decline? Can’t take it with you— won’t need it when your dead— not dead yet, though. Suspended in uncertainty, I wait for God knows what—for chance?—for time?—for […]Read Post ›

A poem by Victor Ty as published by The Harbinger Asylum, issue One.