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Tag Archives: Conor O’Connor
And when the others see what they want, even then he cannot tell if the crown is real, the toucan-colored robe a farce— is anything majestic? How do the ships, the wooden feet bolted to waves, black and pallid in … Continue reading
A few banana-shaped, gargantuan yellow arcs we may drift over the brightly lit horizons of distant Italian cities consuming pungent tarts and violet wine discoursing on the palliative effects of pollen fragrance, the harmful states of obsequious consent, how black … Continue reading
It seems strange today given the death of a hometown acquaintance caused by a landmine in Afghanistan, the way I made choices years ago. Nate was nineteen. At nineteen I had reached a nadir— helplessly in love with a girl, … Continue reading
Ah, but dear Esmeralda, the house in Buckinghamshire is an abomination, which is why the county detonated it. Duke Swallowbird choked on a plateful of lentils—karma, or maybe he was poisoned by an enraged mistress. I wrote a ghastly sonnet … Continue reading