ah,
well; thus
my ambition
to write a poem
a day
rusts,
like
all missions
and mysteries
do,
dissolves
from fierce
holding (cherish
this,
promise me,
every day you
live)
to clumsy
quietus and end
stop,
stop,
perish
(dear beloved: i hate this fucking letter)
rust,
fail,
fail better
the Funny Show
agriculture poem
my life in the ghost of Bush
time-lapsed (part 1)
unreconciled
Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.