a poem for today, 1 August 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]
If you're looking for chat, hot or otherwise, you won't find it here.
It sounds like someone is a bit bitter about how their seminar went.
Shin guards cannot protect any part of the body they do not cover.
Every space in the world keeps a trace of what’s happened before.
There is a hitch in the snap of my hip, so big up with the pills bitch.
The former regard it as a taint, the latter as a kind of sickness.
As soon as the feeling opens up a path for us, away with all rules.
You’re just reinforcing what our culture wants you to reinforce.