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Big Mouth
Alice enters a Nebraska fair’s marble-mouth contest and finds the courage to name what has been silently haunting her.
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“There was no thought of an egotistical self-sacrifice, no thought of anything left behind… only the immediate bliss of the end of the physical self.”

“They walk, the drops falling / like punctuation / on their decisions.” A quiet confrontation with truth, where rain doesn’t cleanse—it reveals.

“Like boulders surrendering to time / and mountain streams that through them whet / their bulk to granules of regret…”


AI art isn’t the enemy. It’s the next brush. There is no equity in art, only merit. You are either worthy of being seen, or you are not.

A luminous cycle of psalms, grief, and grace—bearing witness to kindness, war, exile, and the fragile pause before flight.