By Sheck, Laurie
A suite of poetry that explores the textures and activities of the human mind.
summary: a suite of poetry that explores the textures and pursuits of the human brain
Read or Download Captivity PDF
Best thrillers & suspense books
A chain of scary murders plagues San Francisco. to unravel the crimes, murder Inspector Clemson Yao enlists the aid of Angie Strachan, a Realtor who as soon as tried—and failed—to develop into the city’s first girl murder inspector. the 2 face off opposed to a ghoulish, black-humored serial killer who whimsically refers to his ugly murders as "messies.
Notebook 6016 via Erle Stanley Gardner 1st ed 1960
George Stroud is a hard-drinking, tough-talking, none-too-scrupulous author for a brand new York media conglomerate that bears a remarkable resemblance to Time, Inc. within the heyday of Henry Luce. sooner or later, ahead of heading domestic to his spouse within the suburbs, Stroud has a drink with Pauline, the gorgeous female friend of his boss, Earl Janoth.
Additional resources for Captivity
Now, among the oaks and walnut trees, threat builds in me a tenser, riven place. I feel it press against my ribs, the steeps in it and thievery; what’s gentle crumbles Into guardedness and shards. Our provisions now are groundnuts, acorns, purslane, weeds. Hunger’s made of me a spy of comfort. For I have passed very quickly from to own. Maelstroms Trees bending, shockwaves of mind. Tender maelstroms Of astray and sunder. And shudderings of late summer light on the hill As when hurt pathways of thought Become habitable scars, strange comfort of roughness, hectic-calm.
As if seared by a narrow wire-like blaze Sharply upon the air and always. Or resolve into a calm For there is so much crumbling and instead. I think of you now writing that last Note. How the aparts multiply, grow wild with clash and scatter. Or resolve into a calm I can barely understand—a wasp’s nest, maybe, the papery regularity of its cells, All those steady carefuls lining up. Your thin, your brittle wrist, gave back Its weight, its mass, its shadow—but to what? And now, in me, the far of your death Sternly whitens the notion of to see.
We live in accumulations of the actual With so little understanding. Neither am I very strong now. How alien, how chilling, this austere and fierce machinery of thinking. The Fourth Remove The way sunlight amends The eyes, too, grow practiced in unsteadiness and fracture. I write this to you on air as I walk, but I think now all summary is betrayal. I picture your hands lifting a fork or folding cloth, while at the same time I’m thinking, it was believed if their cornfields were cut down they would starve and die with hunger, And was missing from and could learn no tidings…And they who have taken me Were driven from the little they had … he fetched me some water and told me I could wash.