<= 2013.01.26

2013.01.30 =>

Devils: the stench of their step. The dish of vinegar shoved under the door.

No, Nietzsche, we can’t stand ourselves except by reframing, and the only excuse for poets is that they will crop and color-correct the nervous lump on the futon until it looks like Napoleon.

<= 2013.01.26

2013.01.30 =>

up (2013.01)

The Warm South
The Roof Rat Review