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Comments about Jon Anderson
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Exiled On Mountain, Bewail Fate &am
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Now that I'm actually living my solitude I'm clueless.
Every now & then the wind drops in & I look at it.
These are the signs of seasonal change: I'm not sweating,
& the hollow air in the chimney makes a thrumming noise.
The doves outside my house look like they're waiting
at a bus stop & puff into little black & grey pots when
the wind blows or when the rain comes down in columns.
Now that it's quiet in my house I can't really think
without thinking & I can't rea
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Poets
