When you’re sixteen with pristine nipples it’s hard to imagine you’ll go a little bit blind one morning years later trying to read a bottle, but in point of fact you’ll be standing in the shower in early fall in Maine at the age of 43, the water will be brisk and zesty, and though…
The two-person elevator that smells of pastries makes my lover so close joy in him is sealed into my childhood. Days, dogs off the leash bark at fountain’s aerial braids of water. Nights, letters leak through a shutter. Visiting my country I am always a stranger but distance is familiar and light. In this happiness…
Your beautiful pink asshole breathes when I breathe. All the words I want to say I want to say later. Let’s cheat on you with you. Is it possible to completely cover someone’s body with semen. Turn over and put your head on my stomach. You respond to every gurgle. You say we have pickles….
Fifty years ago my mother’s hands held this detective novel. She knew the world included secret passions, vile schemes, threats. Who killed Lili Godreau? The question should not be left unanswered! From Poitiers come two young detectives, Piéchard and Boivert, they are not stupid but they lack intuition. When a second murder happens they have…
I can’t sleep. I feel the globe making a rotation, and I’m not supposed to be, but I’m awake for it. I’m at that age when everyone is talking about the kinds of love they’ve been using to get by. It’s a very dark late. The sound of a towel dropping off the rack into…
Picture a city and the survivors: from their windows, some scream. Others walk the wreckage: blood and still more blood coming from the mouth of a girl. This is the same movie playing all over the world: starring everybody who ends up where the action is: lights, cameras, close-ups: that used to be somebody’s leg….
A waxing moon, tail-wind of a return, but to what? Life on the telephone, letters typed on a computer screen which no one needs to file or hide or burn at the storm-center of emergency where there is no coherent narrative. With no accounting of my hours to give black holes gape open in my…
Swear you’ll go as deep as you possibly can, my wife said before I set out on the submarine voyage. I promised her and donned my gear. The paparazzi followed me down, but one by one they drowned. Starfish nibbled at their flesh and little bubbles rose cheerfully, heralding their demise. I was too busy…
He thumbs a corner of Verlaine, plucks those pages like a dulcimer, even when the train lurches not looking up from there but pawing at the air for a handhold, and my God! what a head— stamped from some stuff…
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