Say darkness. Not revelation—
I am not the end of the world.
I am the world.
Under your world. Where you fry
potatoes for your
The nut-tree sisterhood, what better name for a row of crazy women, wearing hats of entablature, pushing down their skirts on a breezy porch,
How not to begin with you? You, though anonymous at your genesis, were the first after all, to stir the will. We could make