Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Max Beckman



The Phone Room Drawings by Ross Smirnoff



Poem by Ross Smirnoff

She was split open by death
The black creature emerged like
A flower from the fresh corpse.
The girl I loved became a disease
Tortured by her own inaccuracies.
The most I could do was aid her
Toward her ominous death march.