“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label covers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label covers. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
On Spinal Tap
Books talk together.
I have heard this.
You have too.
You see,
amidst sentences
not (in) between
each other but by reference
to me, not of
but For…
autobiography,
the stories write themselves
into serials.
Footnotes are added at the end.
All the words are the same
type-set in New Order.
Of course,
it has all been said before,
and yet
it seems as if nobody is really
on the same page,
or reads
between the lines,
between covers
under the sheets
on the walls.
How we prop up
the spines
tells more
of our posture
than the Titles
given.
What can be
gleaned from our
rough-deckled edges?
Painting by Giuseppe Crespi, c. 1725 in [Public domain].
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Tres (trace)
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...