Just a temporary man, who writes poetry and listens to too much noisy music. His hobbies include salivating about glaciers destroying civilization and the cultivation of facial hair. Additionally, he generally strives to make himself as useless as possible....follow the thread back...
HEAVEN HANGS IN THE AIR
l (eye) ke the smell of a
paper mill. angelic voices
masturbat
ing
(eye)
saw some
thing float down,
a sickly black feather,
or shred of black plastic
garbage bag hangs
before my (—)s
is this god?
notes: the title comes from tiffany’s “were blue.) your eyes were blue,”
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Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution by Simon Schama
Hard Night by Christian Wiman
Last.fm RPS
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February 22nd, 2007 at 1:33 am
I really wish I could do the fantastical sorts of things you do in you poems. I love the unrealism in this poem. Also it’s quite gritty, which is always fun to read.