Elizabeth Willis
Meteoric Flowers
$8

 

PICTURES CONNECTED BY A SLIGHT FESTOON OF RIBBONS

When the ship is in danger, a bell can be the most familiar sound. Traveling by coach or the disastrous locomotive refinements of mind, the idea of winds, of important motionless conversation, the mouth’s wicked noise, an internal sensation of ten and of apparent fever, an alcove of Lear. To voluntarily dissolve before a lesser lens, to bark and blither till the end in drunkenness, or a cottage trembles above
the snow with a surprise like joy.

HER PLUMY CREST

Flags are in stitches, factoring out the latest breeze, the “she” of elation. Our spices puts us down beyond the trees, even something simple can be squared to death. Among the other jailbirds we sew the book, we pant out the game with corrugated sealight. Even if I don’t write it down, I’m just a form of tuning. This latest window contains your face, abstract of terrain.