The Goodnight Pig
When the pig is born in the foam of beer,
it runs though the valleys of the city, chewing on laundry
In the night of the pig sleeping, the beer foam flows endlessly
Month: April 2016
More than can ever meet the eye. Make the eye meet itself, and maybe the fertile soil will finally become green with envy or classics. That in itself might make all of us more and more interwoven, but some of us (like me) reject the interwoven bits because we are too ugly or oversensitive or maybe it is the same thing. Continue reading
muted soaring moments when the ceaseless
thought line does cease and our nerves
turn white green possibility of transcending,
filaments right in our grasp
Drip the oil
The heavy grease of too-well reamed machinery slides across fingers
rolar green cogs grind gears.
Gyrate
riverkin 