Ingathering my frail smocked son he says: don’t squeeze.
Absolution by poison has made him into papier maché;
They kill him then redress the balance,
Befuddle his blood to save the valved heart.
If the worst of life connives such weakness
How can I plot to sidestep
The slow grinding dust to dust
And graft my tissue to his
To make him new weighty again
Full of substance, begotten not made?
” Nicholas Wolf
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Still Life, Still Sacred
Renaissance painters would use life-sized wooden dolls called manichini to study how drapery folds on the human…
Letters
I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…
While We’re At It
Propaganda: misleading and biased portrayal of facts, often used to inculcate and reinforce an ideology or political…
