In a flannel nightgown, an hour after sunset, she seems farm wife or owner, fraught, as she bends by kerosene light over bills on a scratched wood table, A white cockatoo on her shoulder nips for attention. and as she lifts him...
Read MoreHe is a white collar with the barest stain even Oxycline can’t erase The cross he wears on a leather cord is a warning, subtle like the faint smell of milk before it sours.. A scarlet apple with a small bruise. How far does the...
Read MoreShe watches herself push off in a boat once tethered to a splintered dock, feels the lash of arctic cold glimpses the edge of red toothed hyenas, drenches in colors of raindrops, until, muscles ropey, and clothes in tatters, she...
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On a sunny, late August afternoon, I saw my best friend, Jim, for the last time. To visit him, I had to cross a smooth, two-lane state highway that connected our town to lonely rural stretches. Another block away were the four...
Read MoreSomeone has risen hurriedly, late for Geometry, or an assignation we really have to talk left the chair angled away from the comfortable line of the table, left a gap as broad as the need to...
Read More— for N.G. No need for such manufactured unease while the world, wound down, wearied, breeds its own fears – dogs loosed howling in the soulless dark, blue dreams, sounds ‘round a wind-worried lake crazing. I see...
Read MoreLately, I have found myself increasingly interested in reading works about translation, including the recent illuminating book, The Philosophy of Translation by Damion Searls. Reading about translation has revivified my approach...
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