The dream is not a map. A poem is not the territory. The dreamer reclines in a barbershop carpeted with Afro turf. In the dark some soul yells. It hurts to walk barefoot on cowrie shells. — Harryette Mullen Copy Share Image
The dream is not a map. A poem is not the territory. The dreamer reclines in a barbershop carpeted with Afro turf. In the… — Harryette Mullen Copy Share Image
“Walking the path, I stop to pick up bleached bark from a tree, curled into a scroll of ancient wisdom I am unable to… — Harryette Mullen Copy Share Image
“I regret to say I'm unable to reply to your unexpressed desires.” — Harryette Mullen Copy Share Image
The spirit of tanka interests me more than following rigid conventions. As I understand it, the tradition allows a variety of approaches, from simple… — Harryette Mullen Copy Share Image
