Eclectic electric lights shatter the space in strobe, fragments the people only to prove them whole again. And reaching out for you feels like falling in slow motion only to resume time when your hand’s in mine once more. “Two,” I say, and my head rolls away as... Continue Reading →
All I want Is the voice of W.B. Yeats In his glorious prime; The all-seeing mind of Borges In his infinite intertwines; The audacity of Szymborska (whose mouth would curl at this pitiful sight); The lyrical grace of Mansfield Who wove tragedy to the conceptual divine I want to find my Innisfree Where peace comes... Continue Reading →
Writes of Passage 