Poem (Louise Gluck Poem)
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a ...
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a ...
No one's despair is like my despair-- You have no place in this garden thinking such things, producing the tiresome ...
I never turned anyone into a pig. Some people are pigs; I make them Look like pigs. I'm sick of ...
I became a criminal when I fell in love. Before that I was a waitress. I didn't want to go ...
A man and a woman lie on a white bed. It is morning. I think Soon they will waken. On ...
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