Imagine this scene from The Bad Seed: two ladies drooping, lily-like, in a nineteen-fifties living room. No pillow is out of place. Each woman is devastated. Hortense Daigle because her little boy was killed, the other woman because her little girl murdered him. Mrs. Daigle is liquored up good. She exits her grief long enough […]

Now I recognize everyone I have ever seen. For instance, on the walk over here I heard two men discussing how hot one of them was one night—the one man thought the other was very hot but the hot-that-night man didn’t think he was at his hottest. I saw one man walking while holding a […]

No matter the size of window, nor the contrary force with which it resists, when the window breaks the outcome is evening. There is only one method for self-reflection. To achieve a quiet mind you must first hear it speak. Then you must talk back to your mind until you talk it to death.   […]

The winter mirages ride in on the back of the third snow, or maybe the fourth. It is the snow after the snow when we stop using numbers to measure each drift, when we start dressing without looking outside. The air is cold beyond counting, a reeducation. Constant pulsing of white. Wind scrapes each used […]

i. to make one thing of me, writes Rilke or to “work me, Lord” as Janis sings like a field song, mocking -bird variations for which I can find no equivalent, and no sooner have I written this down than I want to post it on a screen where I can see all manner of […]