Friday, January 31, 2014


Red, of course.   The connection to poetry?   Every poem benefits from an accent of red, whether explicit or implicit.   And food?   Who doesn't smile at a pomegranate or a red apple or a tomato? Who doesn't love a red sauce?

P.S. Uncertain about ink -- a bit strident, don't you think?

1 comment:

  1. I went to check on a carton of persimmons at Chico's, but could not disrupt the perfect fullness of them stacked fresh from the market, so went up to his roof and sat on the hot gravel instead.

    from Waiting for the News, SF, '84