[Photo: Colin Asher, 2014]
AT THE GRAVESITE We weep to leave behind the sun lightly pencilled in, nothing left of the eternal. Between hope and despair the perfume of compassion goes by many names — chiseled and inscribed, bracketed and tense. Nothing ends like cold hard numbers. We are still only small animals. —JH With words courtesy of A. Robert Lee, Malcolm Ritchie, William 'Cody' Maher, Gerard Bellaart, and Sigmund Freud.
Cold Turkey Press sees it this way, with a card to be published in a limited edition.
