Every night, they sing. We try to discern their meanings, imagine their conversations, picture them sitting by the hundreds in the moonlight, on the water behind the house, barely a breath, only the refrain, the chorus, the verse and the scat and the free flow and the improvisation. In the black of night, as soon as the sun goes down, they sit in rows and sing and sing and sing until dawn.
First in a series. Hopefully.
Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, splintered ...
"Papaya juice and back to work/I carry my heart in my pocket/It is poems by Pierre Reverdy.~ Frank O'Hara I first pulled Frank O...
Freedom and Light Like This. We Heart It . The idea of this movie coming out soon. This pillow by Alexandra Ferguson .
Anne Sexton is more than her suicide. She died the day I came into the world, and ever since I read "Her Kind," which mystified ...