I wish we could control this revolting …
A. F. Moritz
Each living thing is like a kingdom …
Never anymore in a wash of sweetness and awe …
Stiff, thick: the white hair of the broad-faced father, …
Uncle Johnny died after rigid years …
Although it’s likely you’re on your own …
Your parents had reached a long slow time, …
You couples lying …
Her hair back from the wide round face …
We won’t pretend we’re not hungry for distinction …
Child …
He glanced around to check if the treacherous gods …
Here comes the wise man in the story of sick times, …
Highness, the former walls were helpless. They …
The man was white, grey and pale brown, …
She notes in the poem she's reading where the disembodied …
About the age of twenty, when the first hairfall …
At the table, at the grave not knowing …
You that I loved all my life long, …
Your idea of embracing horror …