Wednesday, July 28
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When they die we change our minds
about them. While they live we see
the plenty hard they're trying,
to be a star, or nice, or wise,
and so we do not quite believe them.

When they die, suddenly they are
what they claimed. Turns out,
that's what one of those looks like.

The cold war over manner of manly
or mission is over. Same person,
same facts and acts, just now
a quiet brain stem. We no longer
begrudge his or her stupid luck.

When they die we change our minds
about them. I will try to believe
while you yet breathe.
 - Jennifer Michael Hecht
Poets









  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov