No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
It's daytime and only one alley is paved with books It's two o' clock in my mind to be precise and proper and the letters on the walls are stolen from the inscription of book thieves;
...Beauty worth more than gold in Delft he was deft at teasing riches from lead-tin yellow what’s good for the gander is good for the guilder...
They coerced the ink into a sacred text and instructed us to quietly find our seats between the words.
Do not go fretful into that cold light That leaks around the doorframe from the day. Stay, stay and watch the biding of the night.
Mother’s tea kettle sings to an empty house. My sisters abandon her, because we are young, and act grown. Keep the water in your mouth. It’ll go down easier if you hold your nose.
in dreams you return. beneath a tangerine sun on the longest car ride, we talk and we talk and i have since forgotten all but your laughter speeding through light.