you’ll find no imperative here.
for strebka there’s a break in the night where the clouds are split through, and numberless eyes are opened wide. they see with their shining, they look with their light; when they watch they can’t cover, can’t hide. in sky their points…
on steam, on shreds of dream, through air, through stripe and stare, comes (flickering, fluttering, flowering, flying) the drifter who dances with the dying. from dim and distant draws he nearer, nower, closer, clearer; settles on a line of sight, stretches slowings…
“she takes me by the seams, she does, this girl i keep dreaming, and some of me is sated by my somnolence’seeming.” Candorféa connects the dots she’s doodled on her pad, considers them constellarized and frowns – the news is bad. (she’s…
we have all our legs today. this is a good kind of news. sometimes, when we go out to play, we come home with the blues. once, Milo told me he was scared of spider’silk. that’s respectable. me, i’m mortified to say…
with lion head and linen red, her blood runs hot, her clothes run thin. her rosettes are rosetta. her skin is her skin. she carries the snake and vulture. hers is a catabolic culture. her seven hundred statues and the rite of…
how the rake repented when he saw how his casualty cried: swan lake, swan’s ache, first swansong i’ve longed to take: what i have made, let me unmake; what once i wished, i now forsake. how the wrongstress, wise, replied: fired, wired,…
the fee is neither hair nor father’s bones, not feather or a kiss or a firstborn promised. what he takes is money. he who deals in this kind of curse is frugal, pragmatic, and gods help you if you think it might…