a poem for today, 18 April 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of six sentences and its image]
I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding and even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong.
Look at every type of porn, read every kind of erotica, watch everybody you see in the world with an eye to what turns you on.
The problem with vandalism is that it eventually attracts unwanted museum exhibitions.
Politicians are ignorant about trials, and they’re weird about evidence.
When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible.
Optimists write badly.
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