claudia_at_twigs epitome of incomprehensibility (for Claudia Morrison, 1936-2021, a poet in the "Twigs and Leaves" group who used to meet at TWIGS café; this isn't much, but I felt I should write something for her wake tomorrow) Claudia at TWIGS At the front, she wanted the spotlight on her words. Sometimes she squinted under the café's cylinder lights. When she sat, it was casual: one leg forward, the other draped on the side. Her voice swelled into expression: "a sucker born each minute" indexed mosquitos, and bonobo sex went "bonk." Acoustic Kitty, wired for spying, exemplified Found Madness and she asked: could we lose it? A little? Leave war. Take time. Taste reason's season: a grain of salty commentary. 220826 what's it to you? who go blather from