in my town, we bend unlikely things into furniture. this is a signal for our locale. I could tell you where I live, but wouldn’t that diminish the thrill of your consideration, that such specified a place exists? with our power given softly, dreams here flutter agreeably. as testament to this, the citizens of this town (located pragmatically to the north of Brockton, Massachusetts), speak oddly, with gruff, whispery voices full of concern. I find myself writing similarly. you grip this, I hope. I mention all this by way of musing introduction to my point, which simply is: people dispel landmarks because they are named. here is one name: ¬¬¬¬___________. this name is an invention determined to prove empirical at some late date. the person attached disowns sundry models of efficiency for the sake of a bruising heretofore. friends, say with me: let him. he doesn’t know that the sombreros of old were hazy reminders of a bolder sun. vague armies marched into Mexico and other ...
poems, fireflies...