by Mihai Usachi A ball of clay launched in violence from a blind slingshot,this globe of pain hurtles far into chaos,bearing my love; What good,elaborate lute songs? What good,magniloquent twilight of violet hues?The voice on the face of the watersyou don’t hear, don’t believe, don’t speak about.Behold my ancestor’s patch of earth; here they ploughedtenContinue reading “The Crown of Straw”