I can only protrude my wormlike tendrils of apology, craving forbearance on the grounds that a writer must write about what he knows, and since I know nothing about any subject it scarcely matters where I dabble.
“Long cold fingeres / dipped in blue roses
pry open the red world.
A motionless aeroplane / goes shrieking over / the oceans of Europe.”
Anne Carson | “The Fall of Rome: A Traveller’s Guide”
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