It was cocaine. I snorted Blow a couple of times. It was the perfect 80s drug after all.

Harrow, the flames, which me consume (said hee) / Ne can be quencht, within my secret bowels bee.

The not guilties walked out and went to work if they had jobs; the guilties were hauled away to spend maybe thirty days on the county farm growing cabbage.

He makes small-group music that can be aslant with odd or long meter, and serenely played; it’s not battering or superexpressive, but glows within its own tight structure.