my poem misfired —
reading On the Road while flying in a sardine-canseemed ironic.the frantic search for meaning,the wild-eye lust for…
Did you read the papers?Language makes sock-puppet Out of meaning…
they told me it was the face of a mandescending like a fire raged storm
Written is my love
Having to write is my death
Language is my heart
there’s nothing wrong with talking like where you’re from speak with the voice that sounds the most like who…
unseen lighthas known all the timeI think naturedesertedthis argumenta selectionof divergent trajectoriesrounded…
It’s patronizing when you say, “Hey, buddy, hold it down. You’re in charge.”We’re, like, the same age you know. Ten to one…