Inat.

Spanish translation of McCourt’s ‘Tis: Lo *s.

On my victrola- Mingus: Mingus Ah um.

Recoil from what natty pumpkins say. Go back into study of colors, old songs, truthful books. Past days had such wars, tyrants, and bad art. Try not to run into cars. Strong thoughts. It is gray but not cold. Icy gnashing far; dying in Iraq. Put that in your small songs. Nobody knows your faction.

“Choking Hazard”

Phan fu tom ry cant
in this round room fools inhabit walls of sand

my glass grows dim with rain, ritual
cannibalism with gold

Ophir chill.
my occupation is long taiga

phan ey tom rie morth;
dango road