THREE WITCHES…
…stand at the cross roads.
One holds a branch, the other a rose, the last a knife.
Our lips move from each to each.
It’s no wonder, the blood that comes when we finally speak.
When we finally say something, isn’t it always the least?
-
BACK IN BROOKLYN… The latticed chain-link casts its’ shadow and the gods skip a shallow grave. Zeus ran a moving business on 4th ave, but ... -
CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
