Tag Archives: George McKim

line of pointed color

we were a line, pointed color on the edge of a leaf small heavens, we built them from veins of bamboo before our skin opened its eyes green voices floated through open windows as we collapsed into daylight George McKim’s … Continue reading

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barefoot in the bald glare of the seafood aisle painting caskets of fish, with their silver geometries of skin not unlike cocteau’s listless sinews of spine curved into tribes of alien bone music not unlike guernica’s minotaur in the slaughtered … Continue reading

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