VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Aldo Quagliotti

The comet is me The night is flooding hitting us with ink tentacles forgotten stars, so many miles afterwards falling in love with our glares why cannot summer just last forever and winter hibernate, so that spring spreads its afternoons on our romantic cheeks whilst the crickets sing along our inner chants of freedom echoContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Aldo Quagliotti”

VOICES FROM THE FIRE: S.A. Gerber

Another round I’m drinking with Edgar  while Baudelaire claws  the turf and howls outside.  Poe is a lot drunker than  he should be…a cheap date,  a ‘lightweight’ even.  “You know that Lowell  wrote that I am only two-  fifth’s genius?”, he stutters.  “So fucking what!”, I reply,  Look what you did to that  guy outContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: S.A. Gerber”