An easy sale
Guilt is an easy sale. We so readily disappoint ourselves.
:- Doug.
Guilt is an easy sale. We so readily disappoint ourselves.
:- Doug.
How might we have our stories, our poems, actually mourn? Or dance? Maybe ask Meredith Willson or Edgar Allan Poe. An actually mourning poem would without words keen in the throat that hears. Keening exceeds the one, enters the realm of the between. The between is the place of traverse, of converse.
:- Doug.
Significance walks at a remove from function. They hold hands.
:- Doug.
Mystery will speak to mystery, to darkness, to whispers.
:- Doug.
What’s relevant now from 1720?
:- Doug.