Category: Poetry

I was in the city that night for work.On this midsize pileamong the vessels of annihilation and blissI wandered as a magnificent beetlefrom Ernst Junger’s collection.Cicindela Ohlonewas not a position,but the description of a possibilitywe met at the empty bar.This furious eruditeshit from The Holy Familyleft illuminated Zoom transcripts, shouted, “Sickwere these descriptions of Lisbon’s…