The Box
I dreamt I had a box in my living room, like a radio with moving pictures, and it was holding […]
I dreamt I had a box in my living room, like a radio with moving pictures, and it was holding […]
Not neat Not even clean Shelves caked thick Clots of hardened food, yellowed yolks A green tinged Brie One lone
They call me judge. Talk about hacks and specs, seizures and blues. It’s my first day, and it all eludes
I was a squatter in hearing room 506. The office was empty. Claims for the space were under review, stalled
The grass doesn’t love me though I nursed it, fussed over it in the night like baby asparagus. Even trees
—Nor should you, insists the ad for British Airways. Yes, an Englishman, like his brother the American, Finn, Serbo-Croat, Tajik,