There are certain things in which one is unable to believe for the simple reason that he never ceases to feel them. Things of this sort– things which are always inside of us and in fact are us and which consequently will not be pushed off or away where we can begin thinking about them– are no longer things;they,and the us which they are,equals A Verb;an IS.
Add comment February 11th, 2008
At least my theory of technique,if I have one,is very far from original;nor is it complicated. I can express it in fifteen words,by quoting The Eternal Question And Immortal Answer of bulesk,viz. “Would you hit a woman with a child?– No,I’d hit her with a brick.” Like the burlesk comedian,I am anormally fond of that precision which creates movement.
Add comment February 11th, 2008
Writing, I feel, is an art; and artists, I feel, are human beings. As a human being stands, so a human being is: not that some human beings aren’t acrobats, while others– but why anticipate Him and Santa Claus?
Add comment February 11th, 2008
maggy and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
its always ourselves we find in the sea
2 comments April 14th, 2006
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
[…]
for life’s not a paragraph
and death i think is no parentheses
Add comment July 6th, 2005