And so their pounded hearts …
Peter Cole
Here in the gloaming, …
Over the border the barrier winds, …
Freud could never be certain, he said, …
Who’d have known this sadness would turn …
Why are you here? …
Fucked art thou, with luck, o reader within the palace within the palette within the impatience within, who tilts his letters into the light of the mind’s muttering unto itself, releasing their sounds to the whirlpool fierce of an ear to draw creations in— …
Either the world is coming together, …