Hive
A perfection of pages where the planes had crashed. Flat spaces populated by fragmented days sought out the wind, raised up their hands grasping, wailing in despair unheard behind the panes of glass four hours thick. For hours, and minutes the clocks ticked. And pollen floated in the air.-Lantz Pierre
A perfection of pages where the planes had crashed. Flat spaces populated by fragmented days sought out the wind, raised up their hands grasping, wailing in despair unheard behind the panes of glass four hours thick. For hours, and minutes the clocks ticked. And pollen floated in the air.-Lantz Pierre
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