Cultivation

poem by Edouard Ligand

Smooth my hair With spit-on-finger line Tempt my brow to squeeze My orbits to catch a roll My arms might spread divine And joints never, never seize But ever disjoint Self And Control. Read more

poem by Edouard Ligand

Sang froid is in the literal grave installed The dust you attempt to shake off is never there Unless the spittle dried on hated-face on hated-wall Can freshly mount the deceptive air Will you remember, my all-too-unbrief friend?... Read more