I read six books in July. The first 20 days or so were spent on the first five, chipping away at big number six all the while. The last ten days were locked in on Tolstoy. Not a disappointment in the bunch — Sean Thor Conroe’s The Walk Book was a particularly lovely surprise of a book. I’m working on a longer thing involving that one, the semiquincentennial (a word I just learned), and good ol’ billy faulkner. Hopefully it’ll be done before America turns 251.
Anyway, enjoy the haikus!
sparse, ghostly, haunted,
the mountains await us all.
a reread — still great.
Breece D’J Pancake:
short and sure to break your heart:
the stories, the end.
though so much is played,
it’s not at all about squash
(like all great sports books).
(listened at the gym)
visions, divine and earthly
and grand and ceaseless.
no place will trample
your loneliness, your vision,
like america.
tolstoy is a god,
we’re all just riffing on him;
coulda used less ‘war.’
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