By E.S. Wynn
These are the moments where we sneak poetry into stone, sneak edges of words into coffee and cigarettes, the brick wall recline and dour desk stare of empty mornings. These are the seconds of flash in a stale, artless world where we pretend to work or watch the work of the momentarily diligent from a more real world of sonorous rhyme, bright color and the gentle, meaningful strokes of chosen tools.
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E.S. Wynn hasn’t quit his day job. Not yet.
Labels: Earl S. Wynn