by Joel Fraser These couplets clang as cymbals These gongs resound their rhythms We crash in tearful frustration For all of our creation Amounts to no more than this: A lip-locked struggle for air And words. Must we choose? Tongues of men and angels, we can master But I know that they are jars of […]
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by Joel Fraser We beat in time to a rhythmical pulse Attracted to permanence, after all Yet in time will come a rhyme that rings false And the well-built walls of life start to fall Gravity gone, I simply dissipate Innate need for form, now unsatisfied Ground yourselves, cling on, avoid what awaits With gravity […]
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The Poor Print 