Evan D. Williams

“what was that miraculous metal message we found somewhere along putnam avenue (or was it metropolitan?), back when we were defectors from museums & given to wandering the old brewer’s rows past midnight, now & then a silent mummer passing, a faint siren farther out & unfamiliar, a cold-body radiance lingering above the parapets of the glass factory? we tasted freedom in the silver-crystal air that night (my tongue has not forgotten), though all the words have been pulled apart.”
― Evan D. Williams, Dear Excavator