Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ… once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,

The house we built gradually from the ground up when we were yo… (three rooms, the walls raw trees) burned down last year they said

She squats, bare feet splayed out, not graceful; skirt tucked around ankl… Her face is lined and cracked. She looks old,

Whether is it possible to become l… Whether one tree looks like anothe… Whether there is water all around the edges or not. Whether there are edges or whether

Whether he will go on singing or not, knowing what he knows of the horror of this world: He was not wandering among meadows all this time. He was down there

The body dies little by little the body buries itself joins itself to the loosened mind, to the black…

It was taken some time ago. At first it seems to be a smeared print: blurred lines and grey flec… blended with the paper;

The water turns a long way down over the raw stone… ice crusts around it We walk separately along the hill to the open

1. Men’s novels are about men. Women’s novels are about men too but from a different point of view. You can have a men’s novel with no women in it except possibly the landlady or the ho...

When you hear me singing you get the rifle down and the flashlight, aiming for my… but you always miss and when you set out the poison

More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, in… you, if possible through the skin like a cool plant’s tricks with ox…

In the secular night you wander ar… alone in your house. It’s two-thir… Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen…

This is the plum season, the night… blue and distended, the moon hazed, this is the season of peach… with their lush lobed bulbs that glow in the dusk, apples

i Behind glass in Mexico this clay doll draws its lips back in a snarl; despite its beautiful dusty shawl,

Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mo… a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed… to get onto my head. It’s his