He Sleeps Well

It’s clear to us that Lincoln will die He wears the sheen of a much-rubbed lamp It’s clear he never wore his hair grey (“After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well: /Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,/Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, /Can touch him further.”) “he looked ashen” the biography is always […]

The Very End

On the way to work this brown bulldog was walking towards me, not on a leash, just all by himself, and he looked at me, and we passed each other, and I felt this dog was a demon or a god in disguise.