Someone else once described poetry as the practiced revelation of subjects ordinarily marked for concealment, but no one buys it so why bother sourcing the quote. “It” must be ok for me to steal, I excuse myself. Time and time again I excuse myself. Let’s say for the sake of shaky foreshadowing that the door […]

Bellow writing in the ‘60s about the well of literary estrangement running dry. Saul, that is. That was then—what of now? Well, now, is there any room for it at all? Everyone and no one is estranged. Every group, every clique, every niche of every corner has a brandable identity sewn on like logos on […]

One thing is to be, another is to see, just the way I wish you’d see me. One too many phrases like that and they found themselves confused, adrift, and said my positions lacked grounding, something concrete, which in my head rendered cartoonishly into weighted feet sinking to the bottom of the Neva because, naturally, […]

I was tired. All we have is this moment, and, at times, I was sick of more or less mechanically asserting the liberating quality of this fact, each time proffering it as something new, fresh, vivid, like a sad small town huckster, which I suppose was due to the default sense of that fact’s terrifyingness […]

Hyper-awareness is such a flatly ironic drag when it lacks the ability to go beyond itself, within itself, the verysame way we mistake saying what (we think) we’re doing for telling the truth, even going so far as to imagine this language ours simply because something must be? This winter won’t be like the last […]

Yes, all those things are lovely, but it’s boring when all is said and done at the end of the day eventually in the final analysis after all—indecision can be a like standing in the middle of field of lilacs and sometimes we simply say too much. Speaking of lilacs and sometimes, I don’t do […]

Another time—yes, there was another time, but only one other time, and that not really—I saw her acting out some obscurely tragic final scene, rushing from room to room in a space not entirely unlike that flat but cross-sectioned like a stage, lamenting and gesticulating. The melodrama, the motion, the volume—oh the things I’d say […]