Sunday, February 10, 2008


SURPLUS MEMORY

Sure, I could take to the talk-show circuit,
with its bright-lit carnival of enforced confession,
but what I keep to myself Is left to the mist, to the slow dissolve, to the ellipse of suggested suffering. I myself am not even sure
what I have suffered. Wounds are like that.
You get so used to living inside them
you might miss the fact
that they've long since closed.
-

Monsters

  • (no title)
    Tattle-Tale Nation
  • (no title)
    LONG PLAYING The just-past-full moon parsed and dissected by black tree branches and a screen window open to a taut Spring chill on t...
  • (no title)
    THE DEAD ARE THIEVES, TOO They’ll pick your pocket clean, like that Ozark you left by the river. How many times do I have to talk to you? ...