shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Bruce Robinson



imposibles rios
Fleuves impassibles

To cross this river, of many, to cross,
interrogate the trees that look as though

they'd flourish amid the obliteration

of cities, despite the tumult of
invective, despite the grease of pleasantries,

something like justice cut off

at its knees, the chatter of ice
at estival festivities

you'd think indifference not possible

but tonight affords a river. or so
it seems to seem, adrift in our beds,

regardless we dream.