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This is what history is: all those centuries of bodies. Bodies as tulips bent to the demands of light, colored into blossom, spent.

Too many of my days are spent stuffing my cheeks with food and crash landing in the ocean.	July 2, 2014	On Lying in Bed	it's all those cutthroat grandmas
You are a weaponsmith in an open field. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.	You Know What I'm Sayin'	The Carpenter	Put an unmonitored piano in a public place. It's the only real magic that exists.
The second hand is stopped just after the four, twitching periodically. Outside, a cold rain.	Love is a dangerous angel

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