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Poem 35

Poem 35

  Twine— You on the other side, I on this end. Are we not twine? Blinded by the threads of pleasure. But, darling, twine slips away Wh...

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I’m Human—warm like winter toast, but not especially easygoing. I write awkwardly, under my own name and sometimes as A’man(t), a medieval busker who can’t sing or dance. My name confuses people, my prose disappoints expectations, and my books are strange enough that I don’t recommend them. I listen to Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Willie Nelson, and other dead musicians. I overfeed my guppies. I’ve published books that barely explain me: Mimosa, Anugami, Who Will Bury the Dead God, The Outsider, and The Unknown Existence of Being. Cheers.

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