One drop of wine falls on the ground, soaks in. All this commotion of intelligence and feeling
comes from that intentional spilling. Your sadness so concerned with itself, how’s it going, secrets rising out of the soil, thorns wrapped with petals. Only someone sickened by fall can rise now from the bed. What is the fall wind? A clear refusal. What is spring? Your opening heart.
I have a Bachelor's Degree in History/Government and International Relations from George Mason University, and a Master's Degree in International Affairs with a Concentration in U.S. Foreign Policy from American University in Washington, DC. I was born in New York City, and have lived in Northern Virginia since childhood. I am an independent writer and an entrepreneur. I am also a book author.
View all posts by adamazim1988