No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
If dreams left bones I would sift them gently from the sheets. A rib of moonlight.
I carry fragments of lines in my mind for days or weeks before writing them down. Sometimes the line arrives whole, sometimes only as rhythm. I try to follow the sound first and the meaning later. Language, like water, tends to find its own level if you give it enough patience.
The movie showed both your delight and your weariness. The delight showed most when you were training your dog Rothko, methodically rewarding him and praising him when he accomplished his tricks.
Much as I long for the remembered real I dwell more now on memories that never were.
This movie could be a turning point for Hollywood’s writers if the modern North American audience is ready to face a strong leading lady who simultaneously holds such a strong contradiction within her.
Swan Song
to tears, I am tragically bored the spines creased, the birds alone in their forests whistle sweet little songs to warn the others: this is my spot, my tree, my world you’d better stay away.