The Nacreous Oughts

13 December 2005

Quilting with Manhole Covers.

Anatomy of the Second Gilded Age.

Jargon worlds.

   "On Thought in Harness

My falcon to my wrist
From no high air.
I sent her toward the sun that burns
Above the mist;
But she has not been there.
Her talons are not cold; her beak
Is closed upon no wonder;
Her head stinks of its hood, her feathers reek
Of me, that quake at the thunder.

Degraded bird, I give you back your eyes forever, ascend now whither you are tossed;
Forsake this wrist, forsake this rhyme;
Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost,
But climb."

--Edna St Vincent Millay

Vizpo and Karaoke.

K. S.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?