At seven o’clock I brewed some coffee, waiting for it to finish, I stared at leftover pizza— I decided to eat straight from the box —like beautiful birds of old, or like the mouth of a miracle. It was now Tuesday. Standing in the kitchen, a lonely water drop rippled in the sink. The first […]Read more "Ordinary Tuesday Morning"
in the foreground without fog by breather-box of small amputated maple trees resurrecting from mud skinned by avalanche sock-hop of multitude crayons and charcoal bonuses without rot—cooling fluid kicks in snarls to dance among ground-control and finger leaves without stress, O what absence of problemsRead more "Tracers"