Back Logging
There are folders filled with thousands of poems. And I mean thousands. And I dare not look at them. They were composed between 1990 and 1994 – but to say ‘composed’ might be going a little far. Hacked out, coughed up, farted in the general direction of a typewriter.
Prolific is an insult. At the very least it’s an understatement.
I carried these pages fr…
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