*** life’s not an equation when you pull her tail she doesn’t break into a very long ‘muuu’ to reach the stars life’s not an equation when you hug her you only feel dry s
And then I saw Madame Bovary dying in the film Her porcelain skin Her lust for life just as she was dying Then the TV news about people wearing masks and gloves The whole planet we
this entity blind and swarthy locomotive coal steam something stuck on the inside like a sticker a wild beast chased away with the shovel let me invoke it spit it between the eyes
A shelf of powdered milk jars stood where once our table had been. I found a chair and sat in front of it – that was how much I missed you. Later that afternoon, the pharmacist a
voles scurry across ashes and burnt apple peels several tourists return from the desert on tiny camels in Mauritania near the border with Senegal lemon trees grow in orchards and w
THE SHOW GOES ON (Post-Trans-Humanist Gloss) Another day settles down in the almost outdated tempo of the evening. It lies already musty in the album of history. It sprawls in the
The fires were beginning to die down. The men held their clubs above the last of the flames, watching them lick the rags wrapped around their ends. Night birds called to each other
The Mezins lived in Giulvăz and were among the richest people in the village. Two branches of their family, the Cipors and the Pătriconis, toiled on the Bărăgan Plain, harvesti
The room should have a very high ceiling, so that if you look upwards you can barely discern the area where the whitewashed walls – dirty white walls, repainted recently, while t
