I was the original @Horse_ebooks

Little Aunt, you say all these things, but think of all the people who fake until heaven is a big place.

The moon in the Window like an Anonymous Nurse ( Read more... )

Every dance is a formal contract. Sign here, she says. Lick the envelope where the papercut shows through. The rain won't let up so truckloads idle at the nearest rest area. Pushpins. Watermarks. Madagascar on one leg, a glass case for the other. It is filled with imported beer. Tubes deliver most of it. For the rest, the problem is not ( Read more... )

The monkey's glassed over eyes and thick lips express its typecast role as rhythm-setter, drumskin and cymbals clanging ad infinitum. Even its striped shirt and steady pacing, all its motors oiled and winded, suggest more than an age of "Aestheticism". They'd call it the "Aestheticism Monkey" if they could, as if a thousand monkeys could be ( Read more... )

Do not be           the first man          to love                    a tree ( Read more... )

The gods came down and blessed all the planes with flight ( Read more... )

All along, I knew how it would end, as in every book: the last chapter I read first: Mr. Protagonist, dressed in black bathrobe, half gin tonic still hanging from his tongue, stumbles from his flat. The stairs never end. He drifts toward train tracks, the dark fleshed tunnels, sensing some flicker: a candle, the train conductor's oil stained lamp ( Read more... )

Before the body runs cold, a dull light hangs like a tonsil, the throat choking it. Before the light swings on its hinge, footsteps sound down dim halls, the newly waxed hardwood floors painted over with water. The man with keys ringed to his hip applies layers, playing the chimes with each stroke. Also, the careful volumes pour down the spiral ( Read more... )

The piano is a string instrument. And tomorrow you wake knowing the precise calculus of those who spray perfume and move into it as if into new light. Still, the people are ugly and the Lord is sad. You cannot avoid shaving and watching the white flowers float to the bottom of the cup. For all you care, a thousand triggers are posing as white ( Read more... )