• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 12
Image by


                For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp,
                And the rich East to boot.
                (Shakespeare, Macbeth IV. iii.)

my pretty ones^see i’m small^if you will
only go away ^in Tempo Peril^slalom heedless colourfast
nor ask just^look back like^i’m shy hell
ice inwardly sutures^Psyche crying mountain^boy crying wolf
flow as flesh^reversing into youth^head picked kicked
glued old calabash^laughter on the^inside only where
it hurts perspective^please believe this^the lake sunk
towns drowned fairs^hypothermia naps cobalt^whisht non temere