Tag Archives: S. C. Gordon

Rondanini Pietà – Michelangelo

the last days of his life he worked on it keeping in mind the languor of the limbs to come, the subtle cast of Mary’s grip, already set already holding on to what would soon be gone the bend of … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment


By the time I had lived at Hamilton House for five years, every wall of the salon in my sixth-floor apartment was covered with drawings and paintings of my own naked body. The larger ones were framed, and in the … Continue reading

Posted in Fiction | Tagged | 1 Comment