The theater of the mind
where all the seats are right in the middle and they all have those armrests that go up (when you need a little room to spread out).
When
did living
life, and I
mean really living, become
so choked with ennui that
we had to invent a matrix
of idee fixe that exist simply to
divide us from each other in
ways impossible to see the
inherent flaws of or
why they are
so crucial
anyway?
Perhaps
this is
our encore performance.
After all, post establishment,
what subtleties remain but for
the seperation and ruin of the only
truth that binds the whole of
our species and keeps us
one pace ahead of
the animal kingdom
that we
predominate?
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
This collection of poetry addresses the nature of time, reflections on the natural world, the difficulty of loss,
contemporary social issues and gratitude for life.
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