RHYTHM IS THE INSTRUMENT

So very disorienting, at first to traipse- out anonymous in the city's oppressive din— but gradually, it gets easier to percei...

You think—something funny  must be going on, and I no longer want to kiss you. But seriously, I'm just looking for excuses—...

Actually—not so very long after row row rowing— our boats all the way across the wide titanic sea—in search of some freedom, wh...

Dear William  Carlos Williams, you were  wrong—not about  much, but about early  spring  and all that reddish  purplish twi...

Huge and oblong, city blocks built of fog and filthy cold vapor—stretch-  out before your body's  tottering gait, confounding t...

It was probably the sky the made the mountains stick, and it was probably the mountains that made some clouds gather, and it was ...

I'm not a weatherman— you're not supposed to  believe me— I just  really want you to imagine—what it  might me...