So, I thought, as the door was unlocked and the landlord disappeared (no, he actually disappeared) and I got to examine the room unobserved. There it stood in its gray corner— the narrow bed, the s…
From the Collection Axe in Blossom: Last Poems & Fragments
So, I thought,
as the door was unlocked
and the landlord disappeared (no,
he actually disappeared)
In his final days, Franz Wright tapped into a rich vein of material, recording dark, beautiful, and self-deprecating poems on…
“Mise en Abyme,” a Poem by Lisa Russ Spaar
It’s a slow start. Notice the way she’s holding the pen. Four-beat line to open, leaning blue, and—synesthesia—right at the…
"Is it suffering? Is it just a sign of the times?"
A wooden door in front of everything. A door on my country. A door in the lake. My poems prefer wooden hunting dogs. If I say…
“What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” –TS…
