The way Little Miss Perfect tells it, you'd think I was head of a gang of street thugs when I was a kid. We weren't thugs, we were twelve. All we wanted was some prize money, or at least a bit of ... [+]
Lost in the light
of a laundry
room,
clean
air
invites me
into morning.
I sit
and hear the sounds
of whirling,
washing
and with it
I am
at peace.