No gods will be born this December eve as we stand shod to knees in snow under hard stars within a black ring of
No gods will be born this December eve as we stand shod to knees in snow under hard stars within a black ring of
I get down on the floor, do pushups until my arms shake and falter. It’s a good number, a number to build upon. Kneeling,
The cat vomits up a bird head on a rug in Los Angeles and winds shift direction in Argentina. Nabokov was right about the
