You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and – somehow – the wine.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I could shine.
A motto I’ve adopted is, if at first you don’t succeed, hide all evidence that you ever tried.
It seems only yesterday that I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I would shine. But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.
In a rush this weekday morning, I tap the horn as I speed past the cemetery where my parents are buried side by side beneath a slab of smooth granite. Then, all day, I think of him rising up to give me that look of knowing disapproval while my mother calmly tells him to lie back down.
One of the ridiculous aspects of being a poet is the huge gulf between how seriously we take ourselves and how generally we are ignored by everybody else.