by Michal Mahgerefteh
I yawn and rub my
eyes at words as they
sneer at my fruitless
toil; no leaf unturned,
day after day, even
for a thousand years.
if compression is the first grace of style
by Michal Mahgerefteh
I yawn and rub my
eyes at words as they
sneer at my fruitless
toil; no leaf unturned,
day after day, even
for a thousand years.
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