Tag Archives: writer’s life

Anais Nin

Invention was your solitude, your twin, wasn’t it, Miss Nin? The way you spread secret pages like silk violet capes, like fringed shawls, over an air of mystery, and err of desire. You enabled symmetry, to confess. Why couldn’t a … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Henry Miller

Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spraypaint their chains rainbow siege and dance a jig like a peacock on fire, and when someone asks Isn’t it hard to dance around with … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Emily Dickinson

At the severest hour, everything fell within. A banquet hall after the crash, after the deluge, and you, a mouse, courting lull, tracked pawprints in flour, stalking floorboards for crumbled manna. You, the mouse, with slow heaven firing your eyes, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Anne Sexton

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

What Fools May Come

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I found a wooden table tucked away in a corner of the room which was directly opposite the Biographies section. I quickly learned that the table had a gimp leg and wobbled when I wrote. … Continue reading

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Burn

Slow burn of words on a page, how to listen raptly between intervals of felt silence and tapped nerves.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Flea Bitten

Greyhound: A sleek, streamlined, swift-as-the-wind breed of dog. A coughing, sputtering, wheezing, smoke-blowing mutt, prone to flea infestation.    I spent a great deal of my twenties canned inside the dank sweaty armpit of travel Americana: Greyhound.  It was an … Continue reading

Posted in Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment