A collection of poetry published by the Saranac Review.
“Once when asked why she painted skulls, she said that she was unable to explain in words and would have to paint a picture to explain it. ‘Probably I would do a picture with another skull in it and then where would we be?”
The flying buttress of the body, transforming shirt or coat into architecture.
we dream while doing our living, stacking them in a small cedar box, pulling them out from time to time and breathing their sweet sawdust scent to the bottom of our lungs.