A spontaneous telegrammatic lyric sequence. Undersea ditties of love and despair.
Split into one like all else | There’s nothing special | About a lost heart that melts | The fires of hell.
The alternate universe | Where this is published | Is probably worse | Than this one—I wish.
"I imagine a reading of pNEuMenOn on a rooftop in New York City. Jozef van Wissem playing his lute in the background, seated next to a statue of the Virgin Mary. An audience standing in an oval around the poet and lute player, and twelve rows of cushioned white seats—no one sitting in them—garnished with silver cords reaching into the heavens." — Brad Baumgartner