Category: Poetry

i am not entirely in the wrong here but it is the same rage, mirrored, and mirrored back again, a weak beam of light reproduced infinitely in a pair of stubborn mirrors the filigree but not the structure itself a cycle of old example. My grandfather’s father, his father, his father before him, all lost… Continue reading Untitled

such a steeling daydream brutal and antiseptic Sometimes I am not frivolous — perhaps absolutely empty — like a blown eggshell

In Daylight or Cool White Spearmint gentleman A sheathe of bleach like a