He fell to the floor,
the world sucking him down
into an infinite cushioned maw
from which no escape
was possible.
Until there was only
endless silence
and eternal light.
— Burt Hirschfeld, "The Ewings of Dallas"
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NOVEL POETRY:
FINDING THE POETIC
IN NOVELS
(and in short stories
and sometimes elsewhere)
[and posting pictures
of cool-looking authors]
About Me
- Ron
- Editor-type in ATL. (Have a poem in Washington, D.C.-area literary magazine Gargoyle and two in The South Carolina Review.)
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