HARDLY PERMIS
'The road runs down here,
crosses the creek and slides
off to the little town we call
Oblivion. It's really just a
tavern where the local guys
hang out.'
-
Old glass panes have that
great ripple, and often too
have small bubbles of air
that were captured in the
glass before it cooled. Makes
me wonder, always, how all
that was done.
-
I'm a mole marker for the
patterns of chance left upon
all things. Life itself seems a
random fossil, not yet caught
in the deep, dense rock.
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