Fate is a mahout astride a large elephant, impersonal as dark sun with winds raging across a desert. Fate is the old bones of dead Indians being resurrected as ground mist on the edge of a salt marsh. ...
So much time has passed & time is a hooligan run wild littering the streets, squeezing toothpaste at the wrong end shredding clothes with a razor blade.
I borrow De Quincey's Confessions of an Opium Eater, the aforementioned an account of that singular Oriental vice, whereupon misplacing the volume in transit from the checkpoint, I attempt...
People with money but no fortune or stomach for the life of an albatross, watch him soar on self-made wings, fetch the dingy redness of morning's first catch with a long necked bottle...
Upon the rocks where the baubles of broken blue glass wink at the sun and gather strands of rusted wire with the occasional bloodroot wildflower, a man is unbending in his efforts to construct a stone rail fence. Specks of mica...
There are two images, a moon within reach yet trapped under snow - an old woman's threadbare shawl with peasants furiously working brooms scraping ice shavings into howls and husks of frenzy. ...