The tempest unleashes an alphabetletters fall through the apertures of crazy anglesto spell out the futureuprooting the course of inventionand enslaving the masters
Nancy Peters
2.
I'm looking for the binding energy of a look
a crop of reflections to be reaped
in a winter of thorn
when icebergs of illusion will melt
to be served at high tea
and the spaces between the poles pinned down
Nancy Peters
3.
The old San Francisco is under attack to the point where it's disappearing
