--- C H R I S M A R T I N
I sit with a caged bride and am totaled by my love for the irreparable music of the copy machine like puncturing yourself in the floodplain of the Ganges or sleeping about manatees through a mid-day flight I rise and do a luau jig in porkshoes a breaded life vest about the bones of my shoulders should I err on the side of posterity what unforeseen good will gilded ink do me and my ilk in the pre-apocalypse calm?
© crossconnect, inc 1995-2004
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |