To Sleep and to Wake — that’s the Magic Game.
I can’t now conceive of myself as dead
As each morn I wake-up still much alive
From a sleep that augurs some night the last.
We chance our gambol where Continue reading →
SO&SEW&SOW&SO ( Something of a Hawking’s Memorial)
So it is we see through some third-eye’s batting stare,
Sight-Owl-Solar-Sound to track attack as with all three eyelids
For the sight-feel-hearing of doles&days&dramas rustling in the dark’s
Black-Holes–as if to mock Continue reading →