No one but the poet knows, from this beginning, where she goes. To take, and make, from this, a poem. From artist's head, to poet's koan. One to another, heart to heart, a transformation, art to art. And in between, the muses meet. Two strangers passing on a street. Each burned upon the other's eye. Cross-pollination, by-and-by.
The good stuff:
Friends at the Enzian
Snickerdoodles
saying "snickerdoodle"
cheap sunglasses
margarita salt sombreros
moving bookcases
giant libraries
library giants
baby bats
local bands
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