optophobia:
a strange master's last visions
of apocalypse.
through your eyes i see
myself; all forking streams must
someday reconvene.
'as i lay dying'
meets 'midsommar'—my goodness!
perfect little book.
life: feudal, futile,
nasty, brutish, far too long...
man, what a bummer!
an odd little book
and a long night of the soul—
high gnostic drama.
ambitious idea
executed just ok.
the writing irked me.
a book of colors
of motherhood and of faith
and of not-fathers.