All stories, as they reach their end, are sad.
The rain comes; the night falls; Malone dies alone.
One of those days when the grain of a wooden table
seems more certain, as if ordained, when gravity feels
I take Buster out for his walk, above us, wild geese fly south, honking, going nowhere, geese without edges, no longer geese. Where did they go? asked Baso. “Away,” Hyakujo … Continue reading
I try and get it right, how she loves the cauliflower soup in that little Italian place uptown with dark red walls and the grumpy old maitre d’ with … Continue reading
Lord, pledge all Your juices. I come alone tonight and solitude narrates what my voice sees in the klieg lights of December. The earth evolves . under its belt of … Continue reading