Eli S. Evans: Is That It

You must grieve for this right now —you have to feel this sorrow now— for the world must be loved this much...

See, she was doing it again...

Cleopatra reputedly bathed in honey. The Magnum Opus, immortality...

My evening ritual is to feed a tribe of haughty mallards, stern-faced gulls, wobbly, raucous oystercatchers...

I want a holophrase...

Some writers search all their lives for the perfect place to work...

The Crying of Lot 49 is an embryonic encyclopaedic novel...

Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are naught without prudence...

You could repeat escapes over the Berlin Wall. Was she really there?

Or so very little longer...

During America’s Gilded Age, the future seemed to pulse with electrical possibility...

Jabberwocky isn’t really a nonsense poem...

This year, instead of passing out candy, I propose to hand out poems...

Exploiting the local culture for profit-making cleared the way for the later re-zoning...

Remember you can have what you ask for, ask for everything...

Lemonade, crackers, glitter, picnic blankets...

Chekhov death fanatics abound. His last sip of champagne. The whole thing about the popping of the cork...