CONCAVE CEILINGS
why like a monstrous old man
in this cemetary of rags
with your turban of coffins
barren crop of coarse grass
incomprehensible gymnasiarch
domestic stir
chinese lantern
don't you see enemy of light
that i am the genius virtue.
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Monday, August 11, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)