As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
the black river of himself.
The grain of his wrists
is like bog oak,
the ball of his heel
like a basalt egg.
His instep has shrunk
cold as …
yes please
great intro (it's a) - I can't help but feel like it should …
addicted to this
i'm speechless