Everything’s so f***gotten.
I know you hate that
Even those plants
turn the other way
begin pretending
they did not see
Even the words
climbing to your mouth
simply hang there,
Fall to gravity
Everything’s f***gotten
And everything’s quiet always.
Intersecting at Stoppard
Tom Stoppard died this week. I've been in awe of his work since I was an undergraduate, maybe even before I actually ever read his work,...
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