Lenore Weiss

“My Dear Cucie Olga,” my father, Martin Weiss pencils in a four-page letterdated August 8, 1939 when my mother is vacationing in Mountaindale, New York with her mother and my

Using the bathroom in an airplane requires extreme precision. But it shouldn’t be called a bathroom; it doesn’t merit the name. Large enough for a toadstool, there’s no room inside it,

What do I have against dogs? They shit everywhere anytime they feel a need. My opinion: Once you get to New Delhi there’s no way it will offer the opportunities you

Boxed in, no way out, a leaden lid snapped shut, a cloud filled with curses and blessings, demon rain flooding highways and basements, toppling trees, hills frothy with mustard grass,

A Beckett a bucket a ten o’clock fuckit Saunders  sauntering (Georgie Porgie pudding and pie)  Bardo liberation not with Brigitte, but with Godot

My pulse was in my ears echoing beneath stone walls; pomegranate and chestnut trees shaded the courtyard, leaves immobile in the dry desert. I pulled my coat closer around my