Sacred Heart
on a train, through the fog, where the sun was the moon
and boats laid asleep on the silver rink marsh
where church spires were strangled by dead tree silhouettes
i listened to the murmur of sorrowful songs
the flickering light was my own dream machine
fingertips numb i pictured verlaine
and walked over cobbles (past dog shit and bottles)
up steps to a view through antique snickleways
By Adelle Stripe.
ampere’s and
Today’s quick lit [& alt.cult] links from around the web: John Gall on redesigning Nabokov, with covers as specimen boxes & with help from Chip Kidd, Dave Eggers, Michael Bierut & Barbara de Wilde among others & The Complete Review on Andrei Codrescu‘s Posthuman Dada Guide (3:AM‘s interview with Codrescu here) & “It would be […]