On murder in the first degree The Law, I knew, is rigid: Its attitude, if A kills B, To A is always frigid. …Nevertheless, I
Category: Reading
Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I
The Sky is low — the Clouds are mean. A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut Debates if it will
Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?… You can drink and forget and be glad, And people won’t say that you’re mad; For they’ll know
A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broods in shadows and is watching booze eat out the insides of the man
“Why do You thus devise Evil against her?” “For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore.”
“Hope” is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all—