Call me if you are a publisher and I will see if I can mention you in my next poem
Now that I am lowered into my trench language I become an invocation. I am muscles and tendons, a pressurized blood machine, slowly releasing what was stored between the apostrophes, like a captured animal. I am a cormorant of the apocalypse, a confessing nihilist. Opinions grow on me like frozen waterfalls. My rage is inculcated, ...
Today, I received a strange visitor called nihilism. His bleak appearance and slow, decisive gait exerted a strange fascination on me, so I decided to follow him on the street after he left. I followed nihilism into an alleyway, where a beautiful woman's face smiled at me with the promise of a thousand futures, but ...
Not what you do professionally but what can entertain you defines who you are.
poem , in which a Turing machine decides if it could be part of another language along the lines of poetry
The face of the man who knows he won't be tortured even when his bombs start to go off. His human rights are acute, unlike the human rights of his victims. His smiling face is the face of our own humanity staring back at us.