Poems by Richard Epstein. Not much commentary, only one picture (sorry, Alice), and little disruption: just a place to find poems by Richard Epstein
Saturday, July 29, 2017
In a Teapot
Still, in senescence, playing demi-monde, he finds at last that even sex grows callous. Besides, the tiny movements of his phallus lately have made him reach for digitalis. Prospero breaks his wand.
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