The Turn

I am looking for You. For most of my life I have felt followed. Men in white lab coats behind one-way glass. Clutching clipboards. Conferring. Or shadowy figures in black raiment obscured by trees off in the distance behind me. Speaking into their cuffs. These ghosts came and went over …

WhereMI

I don’t always understand what I feel. Just now coming out of the Saint Louis Art Museum’s exhibit on impressionism, I stood briefly on its front steps and freeze, inert and overcome with an unidentifiable feeling: a thrill; some ancient ache; a half recognition as if a curtain been momentarily …