...and is as excellent, in that it is composed

Of what, like skulls, comes rotting back to ground.
But it excels in this, that as the fruit
Of love, it is a book too mad to read
Before one merely reads to pass the time.

wallace stevens
monocle

(bittersweet--why?--to see her in, of all things,
new york magazine after all these years, having,
of course, dropped the 'baby' from the 'claw' by
now...)