Isabel BallanMar 16, 20231 min readLouise Nevelson, Mrs. N’s PalaceMy house but the rooms are not mine.Here is where I sat to escape my death,here the mirrorof the many faces.Each room says “where?”and invites me outinto its own obscuremachinations.
My house but the rooms are not mine.Here is where I sat to escape my death,here the mirrorof the many faces.Each room says “where?”and invites me outinto its own obscuremachinations.
De Kooning, Easter MondayBird-scream bustle you tangled arms and cars pushing and pulsing with dreams caught in your throats—gag— wait—is that a dagger I see before me? Could it be the space between the subway and the unendin
Judit Reigel, Guano (Menhir)Follow the tracks the crows make the splintered blue imprints of trees in water. Impressed by pond scum leap over this into that green into green.