The Knife Say high to your mom because the stars blink for us parenthetically crooked like blow on a mirror. This is a passion pit full of sleepyheads that edges over a sociological pulpit as dense as Tecate on the tongue without a lime. What else is there? Royksopp. Understand me anywhere you look. Still night is still life. My moon, my man, it’s time … Continue reading Four Poems by Jake Levine