“The taste of chalk. The sun lays its copper thumbs on my eyelids. The radio plays the monologue of a dog. What is the formula for tomorrow?” — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“The sky bruised my eyes with rain's weight and my body was a held breath.” — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“The handless clock trying to hold the hour of death, salt in the last mouthful of water. The windows opaque with silence, silence stagnating… — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“Mute, I stumble through the dry, verdigris aqueducts of your eye, thinking this prayer, formic acid, ant spit and sandpaper: blink and I will… — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“Your voice, an evening in late June, ice losing its edges in a jar of tea.” — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“The taste of chalk. The sun lays its copper thumbs on my eyelids. The radio plays the monologue of a dog. What is the… — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“I stand there at the corner, known by the equinox and knowing nothing, exposed by the alethic light of those apples, that fearless crocus,… — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“The mind is moored to others; the wasps orbit on little tethers of light.” — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
“You are not a god, though you are hostile as a god, inhospitable and anonymous as a metropolis, your grey and single- minded industry… — Warren Heiti Copy Share Image
