My mind gets into trouble when I read poetry, but then I think “Fuck it,” mentally toss a lit match behind me and walk away from the blaze.
Ditty of First Desire
In the green morning I wanted to be a heart. A heart. And in the ripe evening I wanted to be a nightingale. A nightingale. (Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love.) In the vivid morning I wanted to be myself. A heart. And at the evening’s end I wanted to be my voice. A nightingale. Soul, turn orange-colored. Soul, turn the color of love. - Federico...
Non-prescription thick-framed eyewear is the...