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1. Dinner with some friends and the conversation turned to art (oh god here we go). As usual, I kept my mouth shut, because, well, what do I know really? I just like standing in front of big windows and looking

1. What happened is, I sat on my desk yesterday and found that bits and pieces of my life were stolen. I know no other way to say it except that. It feels a lot like someone is stealing my life,

1. Let's try this again. 2. The truth is, I was confronted with the fact that the space I have created for myself is not invincible. It is a thing I had to digest for a while. I had thought myself under the

“I write for myself and strangers.” — Gertrude Stein

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Someone was asking for poems, and when people answered I picked up this little gem. Shiver & You Have Weather Matthea Harvey In the aftermath of calculus your toast fell butter-side down. Squirrels swarmed the lawns in flight patterns. The hovercraft helped the waves along. From every corner

"I wanted only this: / the room, the chair, the sound of the rain falling, / hour after hour, in the warmth of the spring night."

When I wrote about my graduation ceremonies last March, I said that it was both awkward and perfect. My heels have already killed me even before the march has started. We all just died of the heat. I took my

Last day of July. It is midnight, I am listening to Silvestri, and thinking of you. The sight of you in bed, your tousled hair like feathers on my pillow. I want to kiss all of your eyelashes. They would

1. You're not good with humans. It was close to midnight. I was nursing a bottle. I may or may not have been part of the conversation. You don't know how to be with them. You don't even like them, do

Can't sleep. Remembering the time you read this to me, over the phone, in the dark. may i feel said he e.e. cummings may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said

Radish and goat's cheese. I am wondering if they will taste good together. Radishes Lorna Crozier Radishes flip their skirts in the wind like a line of chorus girls throw them over their heads. If they were singers they’d be the Andrews sisters. If they had jobs they’d be

I've reached a stalemate with my manuscript. I don't know if I'll be able to write any more until the end of this month, even if I'm just five days away. What else is there to write --- oh, a

And because I have difficulty writing tonight, my hands empty after grasping the air for hours for words that don't seem to be there: The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart Jack Gilbert How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that

"I’ve never been good / at caring very much about language except / when it matters the most."

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