My Old Ladies have become my inheritance.
On Classon Avenue
As a youngster I didn’t think about how I was on the road to old ladyhood the minute I came out of my mother’s uterus.
Still on Classon
The “good night” that Dylan Thomas was writing about is some serious shit. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because I am afraid of dying. I know I am dying.
Three Hats on the go
What the fuck.
Another summer gone, the hills burned to burdock and
thistle, I hold you a moment in the cup of my voice,
you flutter in the frail cave of the finch, you lean to speak
in my ear and the first rains blow you away.
–Philip Levine
