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(Untitled)
Instincts are the words a child cannot express, only feel; imagery is the syntax in which s/he places them.
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(Untitled)
The creative ideas valve righty-tighty, my left hand loosely over your fist. Organs shudder in procrastinative rage, it's a back-and-forth motion, an old metronome or airport hypnotist, and I am reclining at a 160-degree angle in mother's back-model La-Z-Boy as silence plows through beeping PBX systems and flustered employees darting from cubicle ( Read more... )
