You’ve come for something, no? Something rare and dear and of no use to me? My carpets? My coin collection? Come to see me with hat in hand. Very good, you’ve heard. From your mother? Your dutiful sister out on the coast? Who? It doesn’t matter. The important thing is…


He who looks from the outside through a window open never sees as much as he who looks through a window closed. Charles BaudelaireWindows

In this essay I will trace the descent of Benjamin’s Flâneur from a 19th Century type, in the person of Charles Baudelaire, to its…

For a city dweller, the first night back in the country is like being at sea. The first few steps off the porch, and on to the lawn that separate the house from the woods, are always tentative. …

(At C. Kushner’s in East Hampton)

Everyone I know has given up
Or lost their faith,
Or renounced their dreams,
And grown indifferent,
In a hundred different ways,
To everything but their symptoms.

We just can’t get over being alone.
No matter what precautions we take:
When we need to hear, there’s…

A hand on a doorknob works like the mind of a detective
At the moment the final clue clicks into place.

The hand approaches the doorknob with the certainty
A detective recognizes the damning, incontrovertible fact.

The doorknob simply waits for the touch of the hand
As the piece of evidence…

Robert A B Sawyer

Poet. Storyteller. Flaneur.

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