Wednesday, June 23, 2010


by a small lamp

the Pleiades are almost
and the moon is tilted
and halfgone

And to think I thought I didn't like William Carlos Williams. I thought he only wrote about small, ordinary things. I thought that was his aesthetic. This is the type of imagery I would have assumed belonged to the kind of hot, voluptuous nights of the southern hemisphere.

I also have a thing for trees at night. I think I may be part werewolf. There's something about branches against the moon that makes me go crazy. Oh, and here's another story for another day: the time I wrote about nothing but werewolves (6th and 7th grade--biographers call it my "Fur Period"). I would just like to point out that I wrote about them first, and that nobody sparkled. NOBODY. It was tempting but I resisted, the way I resisted exclamation points, insipid dialogue, and sulky, underdeveloped, unappealing female leads. I RESISTED. WHY COULDN'T YOU, STEPHANIE? WHY?

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You are truly great.