A landscape poem

Somewhere in New Mexico, in a valley with a shallow river, grey lazy water, lined by a few wispy trees, can’t remember the details of ...

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Caught in conversation

“… speaking of golden calves,” the imposing white-locked man took an electronic cigarette inhalation break, “they can nowadays be called dark violet donuts.” “I see,” ...

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To my mother, the painter

The way you talked of Cézanne and Paula Modersohn we kids expected them to walk in any time and join us for lunch, tea or ...

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In the vein of …

The wicker chair holds the door back – it might close from the wind made by the fan The whirr of the fan fills the ...

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