November 2008


Alone on an upland trail,
having left his wristwatch at home,
he takes a telescope out
and scans the surrounding hills. (more…)

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Where should we meet but in this shabby park
Where the railings are missing and the branches black?
Industrial pastoral, our circuit
Of grass under ash, long standing water
And unimportant sunsets flaring up
Above the half-dismantled fair. (more…)

Waiting for thaw in a thin country
there is small-talk and small questions. (more…)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. (more…)

I was born in the Year 1632, in the City of York, of a good Family, tho’ not of that Country, my Father being a Foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull; (more…)

Wandering the cold streets tangled like old string,
Coming on fountains silent in the frost,
The city still escapes you, it has lost
The qualities that say “I am a Thing.” (more…)

Violins float in the sky,
And a straw hat. I beg your pardon,
What year is it?
Thirty-nine and a half, still awfully early,
You can turn off the radio.
I would like to introduce you to:
The sea breeze, the life of the party,
Terribly mischievous,
whirling in a bell-skirt, slapping down (more…)

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