Mostly, I am made of nothing. There is a part in life when you realize that, ultimately, you have failed and what you're doing has no point. Religion, ambition--those things matter. But I was standing alone and thinking this and people were streaming past me, and I didn't see where the mattering came into contact… Continue reading writing: mostly, i am made of nothing
Tag: the last pavilion
poem: come like death
come like death unto my sex—I would take your eyelash in my—stomach as the light heaves down over blue taunt hills as sheets well up in my—fingers like glass the cracking of your breath along my legs the cracking of my rosary on the hospital—floor fallen like a child’s fingernails— the fingernails dimpling— into my… Continue reading poem: come like death
quote: the book must be the axe
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we… Continue reading quote: the book must be the axe
first poem: the last pavilion
Even the cutting is in place and the lattice constrains her like a corset like white hands among white satin tying her hair up for the providence ball; and later, uglier hands untying the same ice curls for the providence music in the dark Still, she is the rose garden even with this music, even… Continue reading first poem: the last pavilion
the last pavilion 