The ribbed black of the umbrellais an argument for the existence of God, that little shelterwe carry with us and may forgetbeside a chair in a committee meetingwe did not especially want to attend. What a beautiful word, “umbrella.”A shade to be opened. Like a bat’s wing, scalloped.It shivers. A drum headbeaten by the silver sticks of rain, and I do not have mine, and so the rain showers me – Posted from my iPhone

by Gerald Locklin All the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.you’d think romaine was descended fromorpheus’s laurel wreath,you’d think raw spinach had all the nutritional benefits attributed to it by popeye,not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy ofveriaine and debussy.they’ll even salivate over chopped red cabbagejust to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.I guess the problem isit’s just too common for them.It doesn’t matter that it tastes good,has a satisfying crunchy texture,holds its freshnessand has crevices for the dressing,whereas the darker, leafier varietiesare often bitter, gritty, and flat.It just isn’t different enough andit’s too goddamn american.of course a critic has to criticize;a critic has to have something to sayperhaps that’s why literary…