Poetry
Summer 1992
Reading Hemingway
Reading Hemingway makes me so hungry, for jambon, cheeses, and a dry white wine. Cold, of course, very cold. And very dry. Reading Hemingway makes some folks angry: the hip […]
Poetry
Summer 1992
White Rose
Her hair is white now, like the mystic rose she writes about without affect or ploy. She burns, a meditation upon joy, a joy whose darkness is the Self it […]