Sunday, April 17, 2016


The wind is torn.

In the field behind my house, flowers not on stems but stalks.

As a child driving at night with my parents and uncle, so foggy my uncle threatened to get out and walk, and threw the door open on the highway.

Why has ‘debauch’ been usurped by ‘debauchery?’ ‘Debauch’ being one instance?

Most people have to invent their own pain, but I lived not far from the factory.

Some cut flowers can be revived by submerging in cool water. Warm makes the wilt worse.

As a child I was a fervent devotee of prayer. I had a looming divorce to pray against, and dreaded going to bed, knowing how long it was going to take to bless everyone I loved, or who deserved my love.

A horse is prized for beauty and strength, and to hell with its inner qualities.

“Children go through divorce in single file,” said Judith Wallerstein. It doesn’t matter if their friends got there first.

A gentleman is not an implement, Confucius said.

And the flophouse is no place for a lady.


Kass said...

Flowers on stalks. Random observations and maxims. Delightful, as is my copy of Heiress To A Small Ruin, which arrived today.

Slowly absorbing all, but "Clinic Lilies" catches my attention as I peruse. Lovely. Dancing Girl Press is an innovative promoter of your work.

SarahJane said...

Thanks so much Kass. How kind of you to buy my chapbook.

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