“we have art in order not to die of the truth.”
— friedrich nietzsche
Feb
4th
Mon
4th
winterfield and sorry, too,
my solitude is of no virtue.
green and gold the seasons pass;
without quiet,
i ride this changing tide.
you sleep.
you sleep so soundly.
you are not connected with all that’s come to pass.
whenever i don’t sleep is
how i like my comfort best.
— untitled, november 2007
