Saturday, July 31, 2004


I got Don Justice's Collected Poems in the mail the other day and they are so full of his own complicate melancholy. His poems are easy to get into and nearly impossible to get out of, to forget, to stop thinking about. I feel so bad that he'll never get to read from it. Once I found out that he'd attended Miami on a saxophone scholarship and I asked him if he'd ever written a poem about the saxophone. He said he didn't have the wit to write about a saxophone. He was never witty like a saxophone and saxophones have never been compassionate enough to express the quiet secrets in a Donald Justice poem.
mister nouse


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