Tag Archives: Nonfiction

Dendritic Bolus Blues (Dream at 3:38 am) Instead of changing my shirt I changed my mind and requested a reverse baptism. Get the father son and the Laszlo Moholy Ghost outta’ my body. Get ‘em all outta’ my soul. Forthwith. … Continue reading →

our time is up this belongs to my dead aunt fedora, she says, channeling her from beyond the green a guest of the foredecks couldn’t salvage her nonchalance from a platoon of ambient debris let’s call her dorothy march, let’s … Continue reading →

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week There were not one but two American revolutions at the end of the eighteenth century: the struggle for independence from Britain, and the struggle to end slavery. Only one was won. — Jill Lepore … Continue reading →

of dejection teeth bared like a hounded foxbeneath the matted furthe soft center of his core line of struts drawn backthe fall of manchego reducibleto jacket-ore and earl crust snot runnin into his philtrumlike stalactites stretching optimismhe is the soft … Continue reading →

The Point (redux) Clodomira’s legs are whirring pistons.  She’s up over 100 revolutions per minute on her bike.  The countryside streaks by her and in these few seconds there is no revolutionary struggle, no ultimate leader, no great leap forward.   The fervor … Continue reading →

thigh of translation fearful old fronts and the vainseersuckers of the path Thee Thigh of Translationcalls upon you to wander and crawl through hoods and butterflies —prophecy and foreboding reveal themselves as fata morgana shimmeringon the arid horizon line canted … Continue reading →

singed  my memories are singed at the edgeslike fragments of photographs that survived the fire my father’s hand a ghostly apparition at one cornermy mother’s bouffant floats headless in a curlicue the photosensitive surfaces peeling from their backingthe delaminations delimiting … Continue reading →

tangle shallow accidents folly — you evoke that old eggshell expressionismimaginary warpainton the first indream ashtray — phlegmy black and carbuncular there follows a montage of young sombrerosand the play of wasteland hellscape japeswe live hostage — unmoored — upon … Continue reading →

Condone / Condemn (i dag är det tisdag) I have no idea what she says, or what tongue she speaks. She doesn’t speak English or Spanish, and that’s all I can muster. I haven’t the slightest idea of what she … Continue reading →

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week It is a time of being sorted by skin and hair, by mother tongue,as being from here or there, as pepper spray fills in the airuntil the whole city stinks of it, and the … Continue reading →