W.W. Cubism – Poem

W.W. Cubism and photograph by: Erickson Smoke Whispered Through the tongue. Logical v i b r a t i o n s whittle The bones, sharpening them To the c ur ve d sticks of harps and bows. Suggestions bubble violent. Among the music, Language is condensed, like milk In rotten, dripping a rust can.--------Sh—ou-----t------s.---... Continue Reading →

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