4-4-14:
eyelashleye:

“the poem ends/ when the sound of it is finished” — e.willis
Drown these beds . Land of Nod . leaf-weight needling light . mirrors in the back of the throat . the scent in the dark is a heaviness I recognize like a word I got this far by swallowing . jars of it . and became one…
Published on April 04, 2014 14:26