a poem for today, 3 February 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of four sentences and its image]
Writings scatter to the winds blank checks in an insane charge.
The difficulty of attributing human motives (correctly or incorrectly) exists and will continue to do so, no matter how cumbersome a vocabulary one invents.
Crimes are committed every day, many by bankers during normal business hours.
‘Love life' may be a rather grandiose term for staring at women on the train.
They locked down the exits, cut the supply lines, and started to heckle.
A work works by not working at all.
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