At night, I long to recline like Sarah Bernhardt in the shape of a coffin, the way I imagine after a magnificent performance of Hamlet, she climbed into the significance of roses, then lay down exhausted in her silk-lined bed. Each elusive moment liquefying into one last murmuring spoonful, the whole world dissolving— even taxes, […]
Poetry 64
Raphael Allison: The Idea of One Picture
The woman does not move. Her idea moves. In a series of ripples, quickly and with supreme assurance, derivative light expends itself, the idea of light. She is gathering her scarf into fleshy folds of yellow-white twill, slowly flagging its own unclocked motion. There were many pictures to make this one, as they say Flaubert […]