the faucet is on so the pipes don't freeze; throughout my wholebreakfast and coffee-drinking ritual, the water is a silentlurker in the background. i have never read Faust, but somethingin this snowstorm makes him omnipresent; he is a man and he isstanding in the snow. watching me naked through the window. i puton an old… Continue reading poem: storm
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 