Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best-
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso-
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins-
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,
dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,
and, if necessary, the windows-
trees fifty, a hundred years old
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.
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- Si, si, Indio!
- Now tell me
- Mongolia on my mind
- L’Asie en notes et en motocyclette
- Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
- Unblinking Grief
- Over the years...
- The hallucination of contemporary life
- I know it all
- Dave Barry: Bring Back Captain Video :) :)
- The molecule that helps us decide among alternativ...
- I listen
- Returning to the Great Stories
- The life of the mind
- Go forth masked
- The option to change our minds
- Does more information mean we know less?
- Joe Hisaishi
- Fast Enough
- Walk away
- There, rest. No more suffering for you.
- Poem written in the street on a rainy evening
- The debasement of language
- Aur woh hasthé hué kaha....
- Douglas Adams: Parrots, the Universe, and Everythi...
- Andrew Bird
- We're only passing through
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