Monthly Archives: August 2011

Few images are as dignified as that of the hawk’s silhouette.

A heart that’s not crushed hardens up. Given time, it becomes else: crusted.

Lord, make my heart as soft as a sunrise and wide as the horizon.

Some weeks’ weak end leaves you feeling hung over–as if it never came.

More beautiful than most British women, soccer explains its own fans.

Anagram DONALD DRAPER. You’ll find PARDONED LARD. He’s in every man.

The enemy of poetry is Stuff To Do. It diverts, disturbs.