Month ago,
Remained nobody.
Today,
Stand atop Shakespeare’s carcass,
Still nobody.
Silly old cryptid;
Making art in dead mediums,
Nobody cares about.
So:
“Nobody.”
Writing & writing,
As nobodies do –
Infinite Creation Engines,
Stapled to brain cages,
In dark isolated rooms.
Pitch Black Epiphanies.
Pitch Black Epiphanies.
