an epigram

"It is the responsibility of the poet to distinguish catharsis from art."


a day in summer
rain in the morning                 the sun breaks free, transient                 rain has come again
a warm and calming tempest                   vital, feverish                   but blossoms now are fleeting
wind, a subtle chill                 it presses down, life and death                 cold is on the march
pity the man who fights it.

on editing

"I decided that I didn't really want to be a writer anymore. I'm much happier tearing down the work of other writers, who are not as talented as I am, but also not as paralyzed. Any artistic frustration I have now, I just take out on them." – Josh, Kissing Jessica Stein


These are the things, then,
which we self-endowed gods must prize

above our own creations:
Jealousy, Obsequity, Betrayal, Sin
of any sort that suits our affected moods.

My bile is thicker than your blood.


buoyed in the street—
monochrome chrysanthemums
bound in a bushel