Poetry . WinterOn January 7, 2016 by Speranza
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derision outside my window: Play louder You will not succeed. I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. And the wind, as before, fingers perfectly its derisive music. William Carlos Williams, 1883-1963 FromĀ Sour GrapesĀ (The Four
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