2020-10-14 06:09

man slept
immortality aged
the eternal

nineteen-fifties
the theatre was

a lonely vigil
at the beach
with other friends

even critics
(evasive epiphanies echo)

(2004-03-07)

cutup poem persona

---

Previous post

Sunday Henry Thoreau, Walden: Sunday is the fit conclusion of an ill-spent week, and not the fresh and brave beginning of a new one—

Next post

verb We are walking through the frost. The sunshine (always “abundant” even in shadow) melts the marrow. I am I am I am. Weaken the verb and you’ll