O people
O eyes swollen
O the voice that circles, hard lump in throat
O an ode, of some sort
O one more day
O alien child
O belief, change
O to get carried away
O round table at which I sit
O warm liquids which I drink
O silent house, domed cathedral
O choir
O fruit in its dark bowl
O to be at the window
O to be in the overgrown garden
O gothic stone
O creeping ivy, heartbreak
O stained glass
O organ resonant
O “O Human Child” on String and Rope on Embalming Lately
O a sad, slow end
More about: Bridget Feral
