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The Artist
the day i first
declared myself
The Artist
you laughed so hard
we both wet ourselves
it was autumn
of some year
and we left behind
a smoking crater
that was once Paris
i...
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New Muses for a Posthuman Age
Late last year I wrote a 10 sonnet sequence entitled New Muses for a Posthuman Age, the idea being to update the goddesses and answer...
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To Dart Along
Not to dart along. Stilled. Here.
A life painted on. Dry docked.
No shoal, no fleet. Alone.
Not line caught. Scales of grain crack.
Unworked, unworking. Stopped. Stopped.
The...
