Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
Not what you’d call ambition
I’d like to be old and whittled smooth,
gentleness itself
Women and car
My heart will be
A bell of the Holy Ghost!
Summer
Me and you or maybe just you
You make me, move me,
dwell in me, and beckon.
What without you
do I do at all?
Memory
Walk of the world
The eyes have it
William Kentridge at Eye Amsterdam
How we get to this particular place
Dead letters, those gods,
rise to climb the sky of the mind.
They screw on stars to make words
and leave us to raise their babies.
Utrecht Journal 