The Artist as an Old Man (Erica Jong Poem)
If you ask him he will talk for hours-- how at fourteen he hammered signs, fingers raw with cold, and ...
If you ask him he will talk for hours-- how at fourteen he hammered signs, fingers raw with cold, and ...
You call me courageous, I who grew up gnawing on books, as some kids gnaw on bubble gum, who married ...
We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City. Nothing would surprise him. The ...
I was sick of being a woman, sick of the pain, the irrelevant detail of sex, my own concavity uselessly ...
Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. ...
Now, moving in, cartons on the floor, the radio playing to bare walls, picture hooks left stranded in the unsoiled ...
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