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Monthly Archives: November 2017
Poem of the Day
Sleep Rita Banerjee What does it mean to be so still? to glide along the ocean floor like some black-tongued electric eel, to burn through marbled gold and green of oceanic things like some compact mass deforming space, time, a … Continue reading
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No remains of the Villa
On his sick-bed, the emperor Tacitus: — the labours of the war he had to wage have overburdened his extreme old age: bed-ridden amid the encampment odious, in wretched Tyana, — so far away. His dear Campania now he contemplates: … Continue reading
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