Sunday, After a Service

April 7, 2013
Organ grumble, coffee breath, altar flecked pale blue and gold (it is morning) and once the sermon’s over: This is my body, broken… Metaphors, metaphors. Afternoon—I am happy!—the sun disallows them, the sidewalk all sunlight and surfaces, my mind all putty and lint, the city slides off it, nothing sticks. You walk with my hands »

Shopping List

January 28, 2013
Jeans on the chair, phone unplugged, my little house to keep.   Coming home from that place he likes, he says, To the left a bit; leave your shirt on. Through the window, the maple leaves slick and oily. The streetlights flicker on.  I watch him raise the camera, adjust things.   Depth of field, »