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Reader, I was born and cried / Crackt so, smelt so, and so died, / Like to Caesar’s was my death, / He in senate lost his breath; / And alike interr’d doth lie, / Thy famous Romulus and I. / And, at last, like Flora fair, / I left the commonwealth mine air.
“The tension of a finely crafted sentence – one which I attempt to fashion or one which I consume – offers me all the adventure I need – for if I never arrive at closure, to take stock of the cumulative ambiguities “between the lines,” how will I know where I am?”
Mary Caponegro