Knives of the Poets
The philosophers keep hammering, eachto each. Editors choose scissors. Criticsfancy the blunt: crowbars, mallets, and such.Poets like knives. It starts […]
The philosophers keep hammering, eachto each. Editors choose scissors. Criticsfancy the blunt: crowbars, mallets, and such.Poets like knives. It starts […]
Any hack can crank out a hundred sonnets if he has to; all you have to do is set up
Silence took my tongue when my brother went away, now words are skittery rabbits: soft, furry lumps huddled in my
Every passion borders on the chaotic, but thecollector’s passion borders on the chaos ofmemories.—Walter Benjamin I don’t collect them.
“If only I knew now what I’ll know soon,” he likes to say. His office is immune to order, his
She’s waiting near the corner of Monroeand Pierce: spike heels, black tights, a halter top,her image coding sunlight. Who will