SCRIPTUS INTERRUPTUS

  "She never looked like Sappho"* I Take me dear Vita from London to Bagdag not to Sevenoaks. Motor me along in that car so blue a...

  There are no more pedestrian muses  strolling by. Now they roam about  in trendy scooters  and don't give a damn  to solitary poets  w...

  Let's say a mirror or rather an emerald stone reflecting the Eternal City wrapped in raging flames as the ire of Vesuvius enshrouds th...

  The Speculum Majus  of Vincent de Beauvais consisted of four massive mirrors unfolding as a catoptric theater 1) the Mirror of Nature     ...

  I have no name. Je m'appelle myself the wine quaffed by Petrarch a rainy day in Avignon while he kissed the blue aura of Laura through...

  World-weary here am I  watching the slick green of saplings  at autumn. The sun, by and by,  will be just a memory of another day gone,  a...

  I am son of myself  (like Empedocles) Before I was plant, fish, bird and maiden (Like Empedocles) So if I now jump off  to the upwelling  ...