Idiolect

In the age of the meme story can turn mean and often the poem a propaganda text as tattletale, like a dry snitch on the veranda … a prescript of Esprit de

Fatal Flex

Late autumn plays the angles To corner the market of dining room pocket litter- A hard wiring of ninety – degrees a must to wet mop the dust of a digital interference…

Six Months And A Wake Up- Again

Again, Standard Time has its day say- dim whispers in the dark. You don’t say, Sotto voce? I don’t, but how hard and fast Can A Curtain Drop? Act 1 on the

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