He washes face in river Thymes; he shines with calcite and clover drenched memories like the City Herself, buoyant on stinky water.
A heady musk from hands and feet, City injects every pore. Spy the Curzon Cubs shouting, “I will not give fleshy heart for bread! I will not prop you on my lungs, guts, and dark-circled eyeballs!”
K. Shawn Edgar | Madrid