Memory Mural

Still Lifes in our Artists’ Loft

My treasures aren’t worth anything but mean the world to me. The paper-cut oak leaves were collected on a stroll up to the Basilica of San Miniato al Monte last year. I love cutting shapes into dried leaves – so ephemeral, they promise to rip and turn to mulch on the studio floor. I love…

My own Nijinsky Faun

                                       These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.                                                            …

The Democracy of Night

  I just came across some old poems of mine in FRIGG and I’m astounded again by the journal’s wispy, dreamy aesthetic. It’s not often that poets have a visual sensibility, which is odd, seeing as metaphors and imagery are our stock and trade.  I thought I’d share a couple of these old (revised) poems…