scholia 73

Solitude is the gift that leaves but noble few of us as ingrates.

swanston st 1

Two words worse than most,burn victim,or skin graft,or korean karaoke,and yet we have all threeparked on this corner of paradise,belting it out this quandong,skin all ripped rye rubber,why'd a sparkwhy'd a petroleumburn the doughboythe subway smelland the little neck bones on tramsof intimate motions,out of windows, into doorways,a sparrow whistle, a hullo,admiration, sweet denigration,my boy, … Continue reading swanston st 1