Flatland
He was a poet; and they are never exactly grown-up. — J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens Captain Hook, I fed your hand to a crocodile not out of malice, but for survival. This city is swollen with oil. Towers are eerie at night — gators never sleep. Your clocks tick away in the crocodile paunch. Birds guide the flyers. Even disheveled-grey à la Patti Smith, no […]
