Art is hard.

[thisbrokenwing]

Autobiography 9:
You ask
Did we dance and dance beneath the death's-head clock

and I will not say we did not
You ask

Did you visit the Hypnotist to the Stars
but I cannot say we noticed any stars

She asked
Have you lived for long in this odd house of air

but I could not tell whether she meant
this stone, or that one over there

beneath which we buried
the future of the past.

its shawls and cups and tones
Since you ask

here is a syllable spoken only once
and here a garden of smoke

Here is a well with no bottom at all
and in this well we dance.



Metaphysician.
and do I dream of him; 410