My muse is fast; her legs, long, relentless,
churn like propellers. She seldom stops to
explain where we’re going.
lacuna, hiatus, sidebar,
sudden swerve, and you are far
along already toward surprise.
Meet me in the white space between the words, where the language of tongues has no boundary, and end sheets frame the rooting around. We’ll dance the iambic dance, frolic … Continue reading
I seem to be arriving at a goal I had not aspired to. The distance between my writing and my being in the world is lessening. My speaking voice is … Continue reading
A poem is a musical instrument. The way its author plays it is not necessarily the way others will play it. The poet is a luthier. He uses certain materials … Continue reading
In this animated video by Blank on Blank, B.B. King tells the story behind the naming of his legendary guitar Lucille and talks about his attitude toward life and music. … Continue reading
In this video, Dorianne Laux reads her poem Dust at the 2011 Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival. — Dust Someone spoke to me last night, told me the truth. Just … Continue reading
A few days ago, an old priest who was a colleague of my wife’s passed away, and Eva came home from work angry at the world. I was worried; Eva … Continue reading
In creative writing classes I often have students do an exercise where they write the most down and dirty sex scene they can. I tell them that I won’t look … Continue reading