No one writes anymore
to Poste Restante
that the billowing gloom
of fluff and puff
says more about longing
than the pristine sky—
unfortunately relaxing—
like when a handful of pages
proves more than a thousand,
whether one follows Norval
or his father on the Grampian Hills.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Have you ever heard of Le Bauriver? You must have, if at any point you’ve discovered that you are the vampire of your own heart and that if you believe that you were in hell, then indeed you were there, only to proclaim: I am the Empire at the end of the decadence. But even if it passed you by, the unholy trinity of modernité was part of my state-sanctioned curriculum of adolescence. Hmm. Le Bauriver—an asylum turned a classroom.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 