Minds close up like dead flowers—
Most in the glare of information sharp as a scythe on the wing,
Some when “light” is merely voiced in the dark.
Ignorance Is Bliss
Pseudonymous Poetry
Pseudonymous Poetry
Minds close up like dead flowers—
Most in the glare of information sharp as a scythe on the wing,
Some when “light” is merely voiced in the dark.
