Contagion is a despot poet. It releases fatal verses from its throne. Its alabaster palm will lean to sow what words will wind within their binding strictures each arriving low, in permanent cursive, at the many nadirs of pages — each to immutable conclusion, to shared, indelible metaphor: dirges upon April mornings eulogies at afternoon … Continue reading “Contagion is a Despot Poet,” by Eric Robert Nolan