The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
Stasis in darkness.Then the substanceless bluePour of tor and distances. God’s lioness,How one we grow,Pivot of heels and knees!—The furrow Splits and passes, sister toThe brown arcOf the neck I cannot catch, Nigger-eyeBerries cast darkHooks— Black sweet blood mouthfuls,Shadows.Something else…
O maiden aunt, you have come to call. Do step into the hall! With your bold Gecko, the little flick! All cogs, weird sparkle and every cog solid gold. And I in slippers and housedress with no lipstick! And you…
This is winter, this is night, small love — A sort of black horsehair, A rough, dumb country stuff Steeled with the sheen Of what green stars can make it to our gate. I hold you on my arm. It…
For Susan O’Neill Roe What a thrill – My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of hinge Of skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white. Then that red plush. Little pilgrim, The…
No use whistling for Lyonnesse! Sea-cold, sea-cold it certainly is. Take a look at the white, high berg on his forehead- There’s where it sunk. The blue, green, Gray, indeterminate gilt Sea of his eyes washing over it And a…
No use, no use, now, begging Recognize! There is nothing to do with such a beautiful blank but smooth it. Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh. Four babies and a cocker! Nurses the size of…
Pure? What does it mean? The tongues of hell Are dull, dull as the triple Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable Of licking clean The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin. The tinder cries. The indelible smell Of a snuffed candle!…
A squeal of brakes. Or is it a birth cry? And here we are, hung out over the dead drop Uncle, pants factory Fatso, millionaire. And you out cold beside me in your chair. The wheels, two rubber grubs, bite…
Viciousness in the kitchen! The potatoes hiss. It is all Hollywood, windowless, The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine, Coy paper strips for doors Stage curtains, a widow’s frizz. And I, love, am a pathological liar,…
My night sweats grease his breakfast plate. The same placard of blue fog is wheeled into position With the same trees and headstones. Is that all he can come up with, The rattler of keys? I have been drugged and…