Saturday, May 06, 2006

Almost midnight Some days the silence masters me. Daily I pray the muse take down her cat-o-nine-tongues to lash me to the finish of the mother-may-I of a new poem. The prayer is answered only occasionally, on an austere Pavlovian schedule of intermittent reward.   "I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Caesar, And things unlucky charge my fantasy: I have no will to wander forth of doors, Yet something leads me forth." Shakespeare, Julius Caesar act iii scene iii I am Cinna the poet. I am Cinna the poet. I am...   11:57:17 PM    comment []