#AmericanWriters
At the edge of the body there is said to be a flaming halo– yellow, red, blue or pure white,
Nature will bear the closest inspe… —Thoreau The raspberries in my driveway have always
At dusk Demeter becomes afraid for baby Persephone lost in that hell which she herself created
I sit at home at my desk alone as I used to do on many sunday afternoons when you came back to me,
We have a small sculpture of H… Nothing would surprise him. The beast in the jungle was what h… Edith Wharton’s obfuscating older… He fled the demons
We sit on a rock to allow our souls to catch up with us. We have been traveling a long time.
Broken ivories playing the blue piano of the sea. We have come
Again & again I have read your books without ever wishing to know you. I suck the alphabet of blood. I chew the iron filings of your wo…
Male? Female? God doesn’t care about sex & the long tree-shaded avenue
For Naomi Lazard Sometimes I can’t wait until I… —Naomi Lazard My friends are tired. The ones who are married are tired
On line at the supermarket waiting for the tally, the blue numerals tattooed on the white skins
A bespectacled artist called Lear First perfected this smile in a sn… He was clever and witty; He gave life to this ditty - That original author called Lear.
He was six foot four, and forty… and even colder than he thought he… James Thurber, The Thirteen Cloc… Not that I cared about the other… Those perfumed breasts with hearts
My broom with its tufts of roses beckoning at the black, with its crown of thistles, prickling the sky,
‘Death is our eternal companion,’… —Carlos Castaneda My death looks exactly like me. She lives to my left,