Doodle Tuesday: Then We Can Drain It

Doodle Tuesday: Then We Can Drain It

The Monday Poem: What Violins Sing in Their Bed of Lard

What Violins Sing in Their Bed of Lard by Hans Arp   the elephant is in love with the millimeter the snail dreams of the moon’s defeat his shoes are pale and purged like the gelatine rifle of a neo-soldier the eagle owns the motions of a mind’s-eye void his piss is speckled with gleamsContinue reading “The Monday Poem: What Violins Sing in Their Bed of Lard”