Drowning Out the Rasp

Leaps and bounds have been made.

My potcake is settling in to her muse-hood with real Caribbean flair (and only the occasional mouthing of the 17-year old muse’s top knot).

The creative juices are starting to percolate and pop, a delightful diversion from the rasping and rubbing of wonky gears in the head.

So, on the new life meanders down its crooked, sandy trail.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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