Monday, October 23, 2006

The Window

The Window

you are my bread
and the hairline noise
of my bones
you are almost
the sea

you are not stone
or molten sound
I think
you have no hands

this kind of bird flies backwards
and this love
breaks on a windowpane
where no light talks

this is not the time
for crossing tongues
(the sand here
never shifts)

I think
turned you with his toe
and you will
and shine
unspent and underground

by Diana DiPrima

Friday, October 20, 2006

artworks that I appreciate

In no specific dated order. What do these artworks have in common? They are all done by women. (that first one is made out of CLAY!!)