Author: limestone-admin
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Greed Greed Greed
In Covington, I smell the honeysuckle smeared across the hills: impenetrable yellow mocking the warblers as they guzzle mealworms…
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Still Life With Dog In The Yard
The throat chaps from an easterly pumping harder now. A march of ants parade around the kettle in one straight line…
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Feeding Nagasaki
A garland of tako tentacles dangles under the canopy of Natsuo’s yatai…
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Praying to Unreliable Gods
Turn the door knob as if picking ripe figs. Spin the wrist and pull your harvest…
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A Visitation
Remember that she’s the most elemental of women—made from the oldest & purest of things—and has spent most of her life trapped beneath layers of sand, with no way to externalize her angst or express her suffocation.
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Walter Benjamin’s Flight through the Pyrenees Up to the Bluffs of Pure Language
In a drawer at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, Klee’s angel holds his clustered smile in place. His eyes slide sideways, though there’s nothing to see in the dark.