Status Updates From Cartesian Sonata and Other ...

the mouthfeel of this prose is scrumptious, I wish I could eat it for breakfast every morning

Rereading this

red rows the clapboard shells her reading eye slid swallowing solemnly as if she'd just been told of someone's love, not for her, no, for the sea nearby in Bishop's poems, a slow wash of words on a beach hissing like fat in the flame, brief flare-up before final smoke

Yea