#AmericanWriters
Who is that man in black, walking away from us into the distance? The painter, they say, took a long… finding his vision of the world. The mermaids, if that is what they…
The moon lies on the river like a drop of oil. The children come to the banks to… of their wounds and bruises. The fathers who gave them their wo…
Such insignificance: a glance at your record on the doctor’s des… or a letter not meant for you. How could you have known? It’s no… that your life passes before you
When the moon was full they came t… some with pitchforks, some with ra… some with sieves and ladles, and one with a silver cup. And they fished til a traveler pas…
1992 1) I was born in a Free City, nea… 2) In the year of my birth, money… confetti. A loaf of bread cost a m… course I do not remember this.
The laughter of women sets fire to the Halls of Injustice and the false evidence burns to a beautiful white lightness It rattles the Chambers of Congre…
Speaking of marvels, I am alive together with you, when I might ha… alive with anyone under the sun, when I might have been Abelard’s… or the whore of a Renaissance pope
This is not fantasy, this is our l… We are the characters who have invaded the moon, who cannot stop their computers. We are the gods who can unmake
What happened is, we grew lonely living among the things, so we gave the clock a face, the chair a back, the table four stout legs
In 1936, a child in Hitler’s Germany, what did I know about the war in… Andalusia was a tango on a wind-up gramophone,
For Lucy, who called them “ghost… Someone was always leaving and never coming back. The wooden houses wait like old wi… along this road; they are everywhe…
Doctor, you say there are no haloe… around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my…
Our trees are aspens, but people mistake them for birches; they think of us as characters in a Russian novel, Kitty and Lev… living contentedly in the country.
I. Insomnia The bulb at the front door burns a… If it were a white rose it would t… through another endless night. The moon knows the routine;
In Sleeping Beauty’s castle the clock strikes one hundred year… and the girl in the tower returns… So do the servants in the kitchen, who don’t even rub their eyes.