An Easy Death
Issue #33
Spring 1984
Death makes its sweep over the grass, wind rolled in leaves, a torn wing. Get rid of these cups and saucers, the transistor, the pattern-rugs, this dull heap of necessities I saved up for once. Recycle the poems, clean off...
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
