Miles A. Blizard

Wooden skin, soft seaweed entangled thighs, Archimedes’ last great machine, the more esoteric of circles, insular schema – but I (a story teller?) stand stork-like in the shade of cardboard cutout Olympus and tattered gold leaf wings.

Soon I shall journey to the cold north to study medieval chronicles, co-mingled relics, and a proliferation of dead languages….

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