I found it strange that you would paint such things, Niccolo Quaratesi said you weren’t quite truthful about the way you behaved, You thought you knew the events unfolding before your eyes, You thought that life would cut you some true self-reliant processes as you stay aware of what seems untrue, You were far too… Read More To Michelangelo
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain-head and source of rivers, Dew-cloth, dream-drapery, And napkin spread by fays; Drifting meadow of the air, Where bloom the daisied banks and violets, And in whose fenny labyrinth The bittern booms and heron wades; Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,— Bear only perfumes and the scent Of healing herbs… Read More Mist – Henry David Thoreau
A dark sail, Like a wild-goose wing, Where the sunset was. The moon soon will silver its sinewy flight Thro the night watches, And the far flight Of those immortal migrants, The ever-returning stars.
Let us take the river path near Fall Hill. There we will negotiate an outcrop with its silvered initials & other bits of graffiti, all the way to the broken edge that overlooks the bend, & hold hands until we can no longer tell where the river ends.
Yesterday John Ritz came knocking on my door to tell me, The thing that the thing saw was true, I digress, The day before yesterday James Madison came to show me, I was lost, I didn’t know what the thing was that showed me being, Two men on a window seal calling out my name… Read More A Song Of Literature About John Ritz & James Madison