Sean Francis

Once upon Kalispell, Montana   redwood bars scarce scored by spurs shone in saloons,   chandeliers cast brilliants with open hands—   but the wax and the wane and again   has left but gleaming steeds.

I The discipline that requires one to sit through sift through the flickering fakery the monotonous monotony of Birth of a Nation more than half a time must be chafed beneath and ultimately unsubmitted to. Art history is a nightmare from which I’m trying to awake. II I hate ...