“Poets don’t draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently,” Jean Cocteau Mary Shelley, “Absence” “Ah! he is gone — and I alone; How dark and dreary seems the time! ‘Tis Thus, when the glad sun is flown, Night rushes o’er the Indian clime.” The Frankenstein author wrote this heartbreaking poetic tribute to … Continue reading