"Capacious imagination's faces fete my famishing, take tea from a voice, a ghostly pour of steam rising and soliloquizing, misting the thirsty features drowned in their own pool of too-deep selfknowing. 5 Unhandsome Hawthorne, with a vibrant lie and victorian necktie, I guess my susurrations linger over trashed vowels, marked harmonies giving my fine Irene her double edge of softness; how, sometimes, the right face can mean salvation! 10 Howled down at the Imperial for my tea-tragedy last night, too cinnamon-delicate for the masses' meat, I know how our bodies will meld before our minds vanish.... Driving like a marathoner out of London into the foggy future, the lifted Dover cliffs swelling the meridian 15 and loving my new auto's purring reach into the nebulous, I watch for constellations past the turning wheel while the shaky rearview mirror gives an intruding look."
From the collection "Unimagined Things"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.