Jenn beachler (8 risultati)
- Brossura
Da: GreatBookPrices, Columbia, MD, U.S.A.GreatBookPrices
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Usato - Come nuovo
EUR 10,12
EUR 2,27 spedizioneSpedito in U.S.A.Quantità: Più di 20 disponibili
Condizione: As New. Unread book in perfect condition.
- Brossura
Da: GreatBookPrices, Columbia, MD, U.S.A.GreatBookPrices
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 10,86
EUR 2,27 spedizioneSpedito in U.S.A.Quantità: Più di 20 disponibili
Condizione: New.
- Brossura
Da: PBShop.store US, Wood Dale, IL, U.S.A.PBShop.store US
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 13,22
Spedizione gratuitaSpedito in U.S.A.Quantità: Più di 20 disponibili
PAP. Condizione: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.
- Brossura
Da: PBShop.store UK, Fairford, GLOS, Regno UnitoPBShop.store UK
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 12,45
EUR 3,83 spedizioneSpedito da Regno Unito a U.S.A.Quantità: Più di 20 disponibili
PAP. Condizione: New. New Book. Shipped from UK. Established seller since 2000.
- Brossura
Da: AHA-BUCH GmbH, Einbeck, GermaniaAHA-BUCH GmbH
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 14,37
EUR 30,50 spedizioneSpedito da Germania a U.S.A.Quantità: 2 disponibili
Taschenbuch. Condizione: Neu. Neuware - Editorial-a cento using the works from Shadowplay Issue 4 The brown thrush signals end of day, after a whole life building, to be called a ruin.Your visions droop and wallow, sticky weepingwounds all black and tarred, the remains>A globe in the branches turning and burningbrightly into the… deep heat of that day.faint cries coming over the water, along>Your curse cut me, and through the scabs, clamped inside the jaws of life, I wrestmy sleeves, their dead and dried up leavescurly at the base. Jagged slivers spew out>On the pavement like heavy rain, I was mute with the mutenessof a flamboyance of trees. Silencechanges shape to begin anew>And then at her feet of ivory and ice, my shadow crosses snow, with a distanceas vast as that which isolates the stars, a new brittleness in my chest>Let's not talk of ghosts, though.I hear them moaning a deep, continuous roar, a thing of beauty>I've felt myself morphing into another being, pointing toward a small silhouette.Stems push through broken stonesof the mirror surface, having trudged through>We're gliding through a passageway, the souls off to mourning songsand hunger, litter strewn, litter cleared, the leaves shaggy like billy goats.And I, off to perch into something else.My rusted ribs cave, cracking like the rattlingof small stones, the skywards swoopof my movement on cobalt-sheenedwings. Hope, the birds are still calling. Jenn BeachlerEditor-in-Chief of Shadowplay.
- Brossura
- Print on Demand
Da: Grand Eagle Retail, Bensenville, IL, U.S.A.Grand Eagle Retail
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 13,21
Spedizione gratuitaSpedito in U.S.A.Quantità: 1 disponibili
Paperback. Condizione: new. Paperback. Editorial-a cento using the works from Shadowplay Issue 4 The brown thrush signals end of day, after a whole life building, to be called a ruin.Your visions droop and wallow, sticky weepingwounds all black and tarred, the remainsof what they assumed to be impending doom. A globe in the bran…ches turning and burningbrightly into the deep heat of that day.faint cries coming over the water, alongthe unpaved country road, kicking up dust. Your curse cut me, and through the scabs, clamped inside the jaws of life, I wrestmy sleeves, their dead and dried up leavescurly at the base. Jagged slivers spew outand tinkle. They would be uprooted. On the pavement like heavy rain, I was mute with the mutenessof a flamboyance of trees. Silencechanges shape to begin anewwhere we went all wrong. And then at her feet of ivory and ice, my shadow crosses snow, with a distanceas vast as that which isolates the stars, a new brittleness in my chesttranslating tales to blank-faced stares. Let's not talk of ghosts, though.I hear them moaning a deep, continuous roar, a thing of beautyin an unbeautiful environment. I've felt myself morphing into another being, pointing toward a small silhouette.Stems push through broken stonesof the mirror surface, having trudged throughthe downpour framed in the doorway. We're gliding through a passageway, the souls off to mourning songsand hunger, litter strewn, litter cleared, the leaves shaggy like billy goats.And I, off to perch into something else.My rusted ribs cave, cracking like the rattlingof small stones, the skywards swoopof my movement on cobalt-sheenedwings. Hope, the birds are still calling. Jenn BeachlerEditor-in-Chief of Shadowplay This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability.
- Brossura
- Print on Demand
Da: California Books, Miami, FL, U.S.A.California Books
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 13,30
Spedizione gratuitaSpedito in U.S.A.Quantità: Più di 20 disponibili
Condizione: New. Print on Demand.
- Brossura
- Print on Demand
Da: CitiRetail, Stevenage, Regno UnitoCitiRetail
Contatta il venditoreVenditore con 5 stelleCondizione: Nuovo
EUR 16,17
EUR 43,06 spedizioneSpedito da Regno Unito a U.S.A.Quantità: 1 disponibili
Paperback. Condizione: new. Paperback. Editorial-a cento using the works from Shadowplay Issue 4 The brown thrush signals end of day, after a whole life building, to be called a ruin.Your visions droop and wallow, sticky weepingwounds all black and tarred, the remainsof what they assumed to be impending doom. A globe in the bran…ches turning and burningbrightly into the deep heat of that day.faint cries coming over the water, alongthe unpaved country road, kicking up dust. Your curse cut me, and through the scabs, clamped inside the jaws of life, I wrestmy sleeves, their dead and dried up leavescurly at the base. Jagged slivers spew outand tinkle. They would be uprooted. On the pavement like heavy rain, I was mute with the mutenessof a flamboyance of trees. Silencechanges shape to begin anewwhere we went all wrong. And then at her feet of ivory and ice, my shadow crosses snow, with a distanceas vast as that which isolates the stars, a new brittleness in my chesttranslating tales to blank-faced stares. Let's not talk of ghosts, though.I hear them moaning a deep, continuous roar, a thing of beautyin an unbeautiful environment. I've felt myself morphing into another being, pointing toward a small silhouette.Stems push through broken stonesof the mirror surface, having trudged throughthe downpour framed in the doorway. We're gliding through a passageway, the souls off to mourning songsand hunger, litter strewn, litter cleared, the leaves shaggy like billy goats.And I, off to perch into something else.My rusted ribs cave, cracking like the rattlingof small stones, the skywards swoopof my movement on cobalt-sheenedwings. Hope, the birds are still calling. Jenn BeachlerEditor-in-Chief of Shadowplay This item is printed on demand. Shipping may be from our UK warehouse or from our Australian or US warehouses, depending on stock availability.
