I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.

The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.

Being mean just for being mean's sake isn't funny.

She wasn't crying, she didn't even sound frightened. She told me her plane was hijacked and that they didn't know she was making a phone call.

No matter what you say, it sounds like sour grapes - and I don't want it to sound like that - but it's something the tournament committee needs to take a look at.

Homer is new this morning, and perhaps nothing is as old as today's newspaper