Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun. I am caught in this burning scene. Pan's hour, the faunal noon. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the tawny waters leaves lie wide. Pain is far.
Something that you feel will find its own form.
--Kerouac ("belief and technique for modern prose")
10 Best of 2014
January: Wyoming and the Open
February: New Mexico and the Holes
Notes on The Accounts