by alphabet, by number, and by sign we net what nature never met unwed and make of space a square, of time a line. reality by [t]reason realigned subordinates whole heart to half-wise head to half-abet a numbness by design: diminishing to…
spring is her season. we met her in May, when fields were full-flowered and thoughts of snow stowed well away. that same melt feeds her down and deep, the warmth that wakes from winter’sleep with trickles turning torrent at each dreamdustreambed’s yawning…
a kiss is not a quest[ion]. this axiom we hold. Fortune’s not the only one whose favorites are the bold. in itself an end–and all the same, a start–it can be an answer, and an arrow, and an art. we inveterate urbanites…