I SIT AT MY DESK: Love Poem, by Kennet Rexroth

I SIT AT MY DESK “I sit at my desk. What can I write to you? Sick with love, I long to see you in the flesh. I can only write, “I love you. I love you. I love you. “ Love cuts through my heart And tears my vitals. Spasms of longing suffocate me And will not stop.” (Kennet …

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KIRCHBERG, AUSTRIA: Still one last dip in white, skiing until late spring

Near Kitzbuhel – in western Tyrol – the Austrian Alps offer you particular places, where to ski at 1800 meters high, in the woods of Ehrenbachhöhe, next to the old wooden barns. You should move in a worldly dimension reduced, going to Kirchberg, an alpine village that looks straight out of an old postcard. This small baroque jewel, above a …

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ARUNDHATHI SUBRAMANIAM, BREATH: Contemporary Indian Poetry

BREATH “Breath stranger, ancestor, friend that does not leave you anything but that, a brand of air on the skin. Advises that nothing there is respectable, in a set of family, when the doors of the cabinet are closed. Advises that this land wild and naked desire, is simply, or not so simply, body. “ (Arundhathi Subramanian)

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