Poem by Bill Rasmovicz at Barnstorm Literary Review

FLOTATION DEVICE / Bill Rasmovicz when I say body I mean buoy. By clouds, the television taste of saffron infused lobster mousse, pop stars lonely as fuck in the milky penthouse haze of their elevator-only access upside-down oubliettes. That real, yes. Real as consequence. Real as real consternation is a conflagration of the senses, beyondContinue reading “Poem by Bill Rasmovicz at Barnstorm Literary Review”