“The curling ends of cursive letters reach toward something that is impossible to grasp. The problem is evident on the page: there is always a space between one thing and another.”
the sun sets its sorry self behind the dining hall & the clouds above the roof are pink like gently-used gauze. i close my eyes and try to remember how it feels when things are beautiful. on the widow’s walk … Read More
It’s all alphabet soup
in 12-pt font,
bitter black bleeding into vegetable stock —
A poem or two or three, falling into one another like bodies in orbit
