a place, with horizons for walls
1 November 2009, 12:00
The specter of every phrase
goes brittle at the edges.
I cut myself on them
to make sure they
were ever said.
I’m usually at a loss for poetry. This, however, is not lost on me.
notes
The specter of every phrase
goes brittle at the edges.
I cut myself on them
to make sure they
were ever said.
I’m usually at a loss for poetry. This, however, is not lost on me.