might it be that you hear me only as a poorly played horn a bothersome oboe as you rest in the wheeled chair with your gown of faded flowers and a tray of uneaten food before you I think you have left little of yourself to control this bird’s body its care no longer a […]
The years are ten since your body died. Fifteen since you fled in spirit. That damn old sharpness and command you had That keen sense of the ridiculous Lost in the vexing of an unchosen labyrinth. Our nervous laughter. Our embarrassment for you. Sidelong glances. What to do? You were looking around corners, expecting the […]
Aremyfeetofftheground 