A poem is a box, a thing, to put other things in. For safe keeping.
A pencil in my hand, its secret life / is charcoal, the wood already burnt, / a sacrifice. - Marianne Boruch
A pencil in my hand, its secret life / is charcoal, the wood already burnt, / a sacrifice.
- Marianne Boruch
To walk into Bill Olsen's poems is to enter a mind so weirdly curious, you can't be released to sadness, not yet: it's just too surprising. But this… - Marianne Boruch
To walk into Bill Olsen's poems is to enter a mind so weirdly curious, you can't be released to sadness, not yet: it's just too surprising. But this…
A poem is a box, a thing, to put other things in. For safe keeping. - Marianne Boruch
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