It Was Winter All Summer

If you haven't seen it yet, the new issue of Twist Collective has an illustrated poem by Franklin Habit a la Wallace Stevens's "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

Here's my favorite stanza, but you should go read the whole thing:

XIII

It was winter all summer
It was snowing
And it was going to snow
The knitter sat
In his favorite chair.


Nice work, Franklin!


Here in Flatbush, it's raining cats and dogs for the umpteenth day in a row. It's been raining cats and dogs forever. It feels like it's been April since April, and we're halfway through June. The sun mostly shows up as a vague blob of brightness in the grey. I've been thinking of the rainy chapters of One Hundred Years of Solitude, where it rains for five years and everything in Macondo grows mossy and perma-sodden and all the livestock gets washed away.

Blah.