Our Lady of Hamilton Drunken Classy Prostitute of the 40's and Supposed Murderess
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
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Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Le Miroir
To love beauty is unwise, for time destroys it. In this world nothing lasts, everything changes, and the moment we start to live, we start to die
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Mirror
Mirror
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
Norman Rockwell's kitschy American illustration meet Otto Dix's morbid German Expressionism, set to Plath's poetry (who was a German American).
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