The city etched her face into a pie chart wedges of a nose, mouth, eyes shadowed, each an escapee from the big picture, a radioactive half-life not counting piano bars hidden beneath subways,
For the past thirty years I have drawn the same face on napkins and in the margins of notebooks. Why am I predisposed to the same doodle that reasserts itself
“I am a master of hallucination.” –Arthur Rimbaud I will not think about my retirement account. I will rest inside a concession stand of white gauze, sun hot. I will
Daffodils sprouting in bright yellow bunches always have always signaled for me spring and Passover. Matzah plays a big role here, the unleavened bread symbolic of the Jewish exodus from
Every time I parse HTML with a regular expression, an unholy child weeps the blood of virgins. An open cloud conspiracy digitizes my last matched string. This gets me in
For weeks, I had been reading up on Walmart, absorbing everything from Sam’s biography to reports about how the global chain was destroying labor guarantees put into place by the