UNIDENTIFIED CRAFT
A map in the shape
Of a kite scans over
The land it paints
Nodding to the strings
That no one sees
Though they be de-
tached–God’s hand
Nevertheless
Beats me tirelessly
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A map in the shape
Of a kite scans over
The land it paints
Nodding to the strings
That no one sees
Though they be de-
tached–God’s hand
Nevertheless
Beats me tirelessly
The appetites of seven heroes splayed, dis- emboweled in a last, eighth fit of agony. Girls, crippled by wounds, spit blood upon the ground’s swell of arms, legs, and the breast-stained brains of dead villagers. Candide watched a monkey... Continue →