23 April 2008


(2 hour phone conversation with one of my favorites)

Conversations of self, conversations of others, sense out of nonsense...

by Rita Dove
Billie Holiday's burned voice
had as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.

(Now you're cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
with your mirror and your bracelet of song.)

Fact is, the invention of women under siege 
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth

If you can't be free, be a mystery.

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