The shadow of her eyes, a Volcanic ash, timberwolf grey,on the ribbed and barren seabedof a valley before the pyramids. 5,343 feet above the scent of moonshine and charred balsam, clothedin a milky ash, the air is radioactively alive. Like watercress it breaks with a crisp bite – a blade of galactic time,bathed and blended in boiled arrowroot. […]
Tea House: Interviews, Commentary, Reviews, Poetry & Prose