Dear Wallace Stevens, Etc.

Stephen Kuusisto, Letters to Borges

“No, I will not climb into that hole with you,” says heart to brain and thus begins daily Parcheesi.


I love Dante. I love him so much I once stole his bust from the English Department at Hobart College. I kept him for about fifteen years. Sometimes I’d light a cigar and blow smoke in his face. Then one morning, on a whim, I returned the bust. Put him right back on the bookshelf.

Properly, he smelled smoky.


Writing gets you in trouble. Not writing gets you in trouble. I’m told bird watching can get you in trouble what with the real estate laws.


Spoke once with Pentti Saarikoski via telephone. “Maybe one day we will meet in this mad world,” he said. Of the meeting, never. Of mad planet, quasi-Quisling Sasquatches running the show…


Lately I’ve been eating berries.


The study of aesthetics and anesthetic are not far apart.


Dear Wallace Stevens: my angel is very small, folds up really, suitable for all leave takings.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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