Cordials
"Million Dollar Baby" spills from pores of the portable radio. All the neighbors I can think of are asleep. Last night, some gifted us a bag of oranges. Wrinkled skin resembles seasoned trumpet sound. Soon joined by the fiddle of materal ancestry. I define experience by decibels. When holidays call to mind that I have missed something, I remember I can gradually retrieve or reinvent near parallels. When it is time to settle, I will be known by definitions I imposed on others' will. That my experience resembles moments yet to be achieved.
Champagne brunch, black coffee, precious mushrooms after which the soup is named, allowing days to write about the other days
texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to Volodymyr Bilyk at ex.ex.lit@gmail.com for consideration...
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