“And language the false start to love it is, how unknown it is,
Leaping and flying into the cold, we breathe”
. . . . . .
Lewis' mother says we're snobs, we think only about poetry"
---Bernadette Mayer, Midwinter Day
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Barbara Guest
Santa Fe Trail I go separately The sweet knees of oxen have pressed a path for me ghosts with ingots have burned their bare hands it is th...
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Santa Fe Trail I go separately The sweet knees of oxen have pressed a path for me ghosts with ingots have burned their bare hands it is th...
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Love Tree Come, let us plant our love as farmers plant A seed, and you shall water it with tears, And I shall weed it with my hands until Th...
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