Her mind lives in a quiet room,
A narrow room and tall.
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom,
And mottoes on the wall.
There all the things are waxen neat,
And set in decorous lines.
And there are posies, round and sweet,
And little straightened vines.
Her mind lives tidily apart,
From cold and noise and pain.
And bolts the door against her heart,
Out wailing in the rain.
El Quijote - *VANISHING* After nearly 90 years in the Chelsea Hotel, the great and wonderful and gorgeous El Quijote is closing on March 30. Eater reports: "Staffers...
2 days ago