I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet:
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity.
In heart-formed Africa.
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd!
And thus the Song began
William Blake (The Song of Los)
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity.
In heart-formed Africa.
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd!
And thus the Song began
William Blake (The Song of Los)
Rainbows for a Nightingale by Ron Bombardi
MONA'S BIG BREAK
Harlequin, Honey, won’t you lend me a smile?
I lost all of mine on the road,
And this draftsman from Florence
keeps pestering me
For a look that’s haute à la mode.
Be a dear, won’t you?
I’ll give it right back.
No Frigate Like a Book by Charles Johnson
Walking through Oaxaca
I fear the tyranny
of tiny things:
the rut that creeps
up on you like a wrinkle--
the job, the chores, the rent--
wearing away the mountain
of hope and dreams
we all stand on
in our youth.
I fear the tyranny
of tiny things:
the rut that creeps
up on you like a wrinkle--
the job, the chores, the rent--
wearing away the mountain
of hope and dreams
we all stand on
in our youth.
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