Tag Archives: writer’s life

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

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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

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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

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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

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Burn

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

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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

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