Nick D’Annunzio Jones

Editor back-issues, poetry

Zen Dead Reckoning a languid puff of dew floats like a cotton bale in air as calm and blue as a sea we could sail without a chart or a clue   Bathysphere I have a bathysphere in my brain sometimes. The bolted ball, a whale’s eye, droops on a noose into a lightless trench where what little life exists…

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