“ In other words, I tasted a different drug. A drug called progress. ”
The words he said, too, must be human enough to bleed.
~ Cameron Conaway
A poet could kill the dead.
Poets, like fighters, both reap the benefits of roadwork.
I’ve learned to fall like the BJJ player, to protect the body through controlling the distribution of force by slapping the mat with hands open. With hands open. Hands open. Open. O Pen.
