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The Boiling of Something

Poetry

blog

Dadaism

Dadaism

Dadaism

Craven was drunk and tried To be naked. The pots on the walls Gleamed with ink and every- Body dipped their quills. There was A writing...

You, you who sleep

You, you who sleep With flowers on your eyes − You who twist and call for the light Early in the morning, as your legs Frantically...

Brooklyn Light

Brooklyn's morning light is Pale as a virgin and Bites me before I wake Bitterly - and still trapped In silent running dreams I paw at...

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