"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,/And what I assume you shall assume,/For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.//I loafe and invite my soul,/I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass."
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Poetry
Taxidermy birds on 10th Street, a bed in a narrow hotel room, harlequin socks, an expanse of skin under the fingertips: such is the stuff of poetry.
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