The Falling Star of the Self
When short forms are everywhere, from Facebook to Twitter, everyone fancies
themselves a minor poet. Social media has provided the form, and now the content
of poetry skews towards a celebration of the
Do You Know the San Man?
In Paul Valéry’s Eupalinos; or The Architect, Socrates is walking alone on the
beach. He stumbles upon an obscure object, polished and white. He can’t figure
out what it is or
A Review of <i>Seeing Red</i>
“Who am I? If this once I were to rely on a proverb, then perhaps everything
would amount to knowing whom I ‘haunt.’ I must admit that this last word is
misleading, tending
Nimrodel
There’d be no songs if we weren’t sacrificed.
We’re all just scraps of tulle—pale girls with doom
across our foreheads like a set of gems,
all willowed, pale, and
Doses of Sodium Pentothal and Homemade Bombs
My first direct, emotional encounter with death was my childhood dog being put
to sleep. She was a cocker spaniel, with a beautiful golden brown coat, big
floppy ears that smacked whenever she