When the philosopher Proclus died in 485 he was succeeded, as the leader of Athenian Neoplatonism, by Marinus; but the greatest of Proclus’ pupils…Read More
He crosses a red field, a red field because the sheep are bleeding, because there are roses there. He fills his basket with rosehips. He peels apart rosehips…Read More
smitten by night,
be not a darkened window
to housekeepers trembling & bowed
the salient, untraceable beginnings
where worship rises within the riddles
and bulbs defy the cold dark.
Of course the inn is full.
No one believed You had eloped,
and You dare not tell the truth.
Nerves of not-so-young not-quite-lovers
sing still with nicotine twitch,
so signpost obvious in early evening.
each night has its particular music.
state of mind is fluid.
landscapes are multivisional.
you have eyes in the back of your many heads.
Olga Broumas and T Begley’s Jamais Vu — gently traces the “never seen” bardos, the afterlife, with lyrical compositions, fragments that form midline and travel into the space of oblivion. This lyric sings the secret of poetry…Read More
a partial mission evolves, the familiar
is made partisan, approaching
the divine undressing of
the surrender to a riddle.
Before she was a gangster she was a cop. Before she was a cop she was a bee tamer. And before she was a bee tamer she was a mini Bernhardt in a gray fedora. She cross-dressed and crossed-over, stuck her hand into a world and kept her mouth shut.Read More
There is a flag on fire and amazing grace
I love you rage
I hate you face
Rapture is our native tongue.
Words, the rungs we climb
from the cleft of our longings
to the free fall of innocence.