No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. Since 2015.
For The Beatles IT was yeah, yeah, yeah, IT was across the universe. Dylan found IT in the captain’s tower between Ezra and Eliot, or possibly in the tightrope walker’s pants.
Moving restively through a corridor of dust. A beep of a car alarm being armed reminds me of a fire consuming a town.
I am a chameleon among skinks; Species and species not mixing. So, they talk, And I blend in.
...what I mean is does it have to hurt to mean something?
After that, of course, he had no choice but to ridicule the mourners, mock their tears, as if the moisture on his own face were in any way human.
The church walls shining in arches, growing vines, peacocks, and vases.
Flip a card of power at Ravenna— that a battery comes alive—flip a card