“I used to believe that there was a green stick,buried on the edge of a ravine . . . on whichwords were carved that would destroy all theevil in the hearts of men and bring themeverything good.” ” Leo Tolstoy When he was old, pate bald, skin sere.Back humbled as the . . . . Continue Reading »
The body has a clarityBetween high and low hierarchies tenebras et luces .He would be undoneWho for too long scornsEither throng to court the other.Vengeance is mine clamorsEach. Angel bright ofIntellection, her glitteringSword sends straight toHeaven. Angel dark ofPalpitation, her furiousPockets . . . . Continue Reading »
You heard the voices waftingBeyond the mechanical street.Attending seraphs sighingYou caught their half-notesIn the narrows of the halls at night.Unscrewing lightbulbs from the sockets,Blinding the world to heed the light,You announced in the kitchenWith old prophetic ardorAgainst our din of talk . . . . Continue Reading »
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