Write a fucking poem
every fucking time
you don’t know what to do.
You’ll have a body of work
despite yourself.
Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
every fucking time
you don’t know what to do.
You’ll have a body of work
despite yourself.
Mike Golden’s Smoke Signals, an art zine of the 1980s, laid tracks for today’s New York downtown scene. His book on Cleveland poet d.a.levy, The Buddhist Third Class Junkmail Oracle, is forthcoming from Seven Stories Press. He is a member of The Unbearables.