Author

Mark Masserant

  sometimes i see medusa wearing my face, with my dreams dangling like an ominous crown of complex and cunning serpents. the horizon, dormant and riddled with salt-sculptured icons, is emblazoned with the history of mega-apocalypse.   sometimes i see a chained prometheus, wildly waving a strangled eagle, delicately taunting the gods. his mountainside looms

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