The rains are coming, so we take grain to the horses before the river consumes and islands unhitch from their moorings. Have you heard
Everywhere, snarled harps of sheets unfurl to lick toenail, lip, eyelash. White dragons of thin cotton thwack-snapping in the hands of orderlies long acclimated
regularity and symmetry…are amongst the primordial needs of the human soul –Baudelaire, Journaux Intimes Standing elsewhere, I look at myself