Wednesday, March 31, 2010


Link to website update

Cyclops 320

Only luck could imagine your name
To know this is to know the world
Yet the eye is filled with motes
Meanwhile fish swim in gold water
Mixing with the spirits of drowned horses

Once again a blind dog wins his argument
With the lost souls of the week
Demanding to be raised into the new,
The custom of ruin
The lost tribe of nowhere.

1 comment:

Richard Ewing said...

All three here beautiful! ESPECIALLY Agreeing Monsters! I want one!
Good God!