Sink, if you must, in the slough of despond. Make your one and only being victim to the universal reasons for despair. I choose a level ground, carrying my own blood-red lacerations over my allotted landscape. I refuse to contaminate the country of your face, your deep, zaftig voice that drives my ardor beyond the bleak. Music is not a primer for evasion, that handy … Continue reading Peggy Aylsworth Poems, Day 3: “In Love With More Than”