There is no smell left in the living room and that’s...
The Maybe Baby will be a masterpiece of conceptual art, so say...
Monday. Much trust in irrigation. Rain on the streets. Inside, couches
These are the cages I keep where I harbor all the...
My earliest memory is of a train station, semi-open arched frosted...
I dreamed a dozen dreams with my knees brought up propped...
I yelled for silence but it hid in boisterous niches where...
Busboy by day, Philosopher by night; This strange world of Disappearing...
Picture a face that speaks a thousand languages— eyebrows in Arabic,...
The storm began with the soft patter of rain, like the...
What to make of this slipper fancier, i.e., adorer, from a...
Bitter drink from a tree named to be consumed by immortals,...