If blank verse well-travelled, then the puritans’ words would be holding us today instead of the modernists’ cry, the bards would be vacant and the…
Each gulp of death casts its moment deep into gullies, gaps like torrents easing into place; appeasing this space with the rhythms exchange, not long dormant…
Why do we poke at the evening with light? Still why does it seem that the dusk is contrite? Myriad eyes have seen, many teeth…
Bound in a lampshade, so some say of the djinn or the Watts of James’ legacy. Yet some believe he was real (the latter day)…
Shivering opacity sits out the three-day tomb, so for you, a casual, conversant aplomb: What crossed the road and why did it travel? What…
Lipped like cherubs, rung like roses: these are the lenses your case encloses. Neither half-full nor dourly sweet, nearly not spilt as a vessel…