Was the Moon A witness Or an accomplice? I can’t tell But, Both times It was there Sleepless Swollen eye An overripe orange That I mistook For the sun Why did you twist me up? I ask the staring eye Who, Clutching every reply Doubts to confide Even a hiccup Hollow Pulp-less fruit With
A man stands in a train station. He wears a wide-brimmed hat and a long black coat; his hair—what little peeks out from beneath his hat; one suspects he is thinning—is dark, streaked with gray, and unkempt. It runs down the back of his neck, and even out over the collar of his shirt. His face is lined with age, but there is little hair on his cheeks: his grooming is impeccable. He stands within the sight of a great standing clock, but he does not look at it.
On the train by the dim / Lit water blue / With white boats / Sloping in, the train / Too metallic and / Rusted for the soft / Evening, the light inside / Too green, reminiscent / Of death and / Cleaning supplies
► Monday, September 19th: Berenice Abbott – Photographs “Photography doesn’t teach you how to express your emotions. It teaches you how to see.” – Berenice Abbott Having spent 60 years of her life photographing Paris in the 1920s and later New York, Abbott is regarded as one of the most influential photographers of the 20th
A description of students’ exploration of Pankow’s abandoned Iraqi Embassy. In the haunted lies the deepest vacuum of the mind, in the ghosts are the people we’ve known, in blank space is everything imaginable. “Did you hear that?” “It was just a car.” “Do you think they saw us?” “The lights are going in the