Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash
The ear of the wheat
Bristles in the cold wind
And plays violin
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
The results of my poetry and fiction are unconditional in that every piece I publish is a singularity of sufficient creative struggle. It is in exchange with you that the struggle is extended. So, thanks for reading and responding.
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Comments (2)
After the previous one with the Princess–Frankenstein, I want wheat ears to play the violin for me, my mother. I will take to the mountains and become a shepherd. I haven’t gone completely crazy yet. Pavlos, you set my house on fire. Oh—sorry, I meant my pen.
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