If everything is a matter of arrangement, now I understand the world and its creation. I understand that it was made back to the window, the effort divided between day and night, how it continues to be made when someone closes her eyes or brushes against a bramble and looks at it and thinks of […]
There will be no culmination like the one you’ve dreamt of. You will fall from the tower and rise again only to fall once more. You will taste the nectar of victory only to see the bile of defeat prevail. None of this, spoken in epic language, will measure up to the diction you have […]
You know, I do hate it when people say that, and I always hear other people say they hate it too, but then I say it— I don’t know. What I want to say about this one as an introduction is that it was inspired by a doomed relationship, the sort of relationship that […]
Në njërin prej atyre mëngjeseve, kur të gjithë akrepat tregojnë Nadirin dhe grija e dëborës asnjanëson djegjen në stomak, e vetmja gjë që mund të ndodhë është një zile dere, një libër i porositur prej javësh, të cilën posta e lë në prag pa pasur nevojë për konfirmim. Është “Gjeografi III“, një libër i […]
On one of those mornings when all the clocks’ hands point Nadir and the graying snow neutralizes heart burn, the only thing that can happen is the ring of the door bell: a book ordered weeks ago left on the front steps. The postman doesn’t need confirmation. Geography III, a used book by Elizabeth […]
…If the world knew how the light bulb loved the socket then we would all be better off. –Matthew Dickman, "Love" − Or how the needle adores the vinyl right all up in its groove, how the laser's crazy for the spinning disc, and the guitar string pulls at the pinch of the pick. […]
Between certainties, or in the zip code of a wholly new misunderstanding, we fall to sleep. Channel swimmers grateful for the roughening cheek of sand. And wake to salted tongues as after a night’s long ebb tide of lust or fresh floral cut of sorrow. If I knew household harmonics did not require covert […]
The figment is the same as the sadness sometimes. Wild gold and dark red. The color of snow under a streetlamp. Or of smoke pluming from a house under a white sky in the morning. The color of a queen. I try to keep her, even while she is leaving and even after […]