Hardly a day passes I don’t think of him
in the asylum: younger
than I am now, trudging the long road down
through madness toward death.
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Indonesia
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On the curving, dusty roads we drove through the plantations where the pickers balanced on the hot hillsides—then we climbed toward the green trees, toward the white scarves of the […]
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Maybe Michelangelo or Picasso could have imagined these dream shapes, these curves and thongs, snow-needles, jaws, braincases, eye sockets— Already have an account? Log in Join KR for even more […]
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