March 5, 2018
I could write a poem about daffodils. I could. I could write a stupid poem about daffodils.
And it would be sad and heart-string-pulling and have a strong anecdote to go with it. It’d have a grandmother with no memory and that’s all you’d see.
You wouldn’t be able to see...
I went to bed muttering something
about God, or not a God, or a woman
an uncertain self-separation,
a soul in the arms of a sea — soul —
What it's like to be Human in a Non- Human Form
Living or Dead Things
April 25, 2019
After Hanif Abdurraqib
EX-SPY FOR THE INTERNATIONAL FBI
May 7, 2018
Self Portrait of the Artist
The Artist as a Young Man
April 2019 (4)
May 2018 (56)
April 2018 (6)
March 2018 (89)
Iris E. McPherson