by JL Jacobs | Jun 14, 2017 | Poetry
Art: Joost Waal OLSON’S At last our lunch at the Swedish deli, all formica and marble and the clatter of dishes, pickles, mustard, fresh-baked rye and your eyes that I once thought looked past time but now at 12 o’clock, flit, and I am like you, we talk about...
