In Search of Lyricism

1. A plain under snow under a moonless sky so the whiteness seems a self immolating fire. The aseity of light. ~ A man and woman are in bed....

Woke up later than usual, delving into evening’s domain. Lost brevity somewhere in the morning. ~ Not a thing in this world is of pure orig...

He is cleaning the storm drains, a season late. Months lapsed. He is sweating in the surprising sun. It is only March, but warm. Occasionall...

Precision in the translation of sight, which is really precision of the abstract, which is, of course, nothing at all, and the only thing we...