Articles

I set you children a lesson, Mary says. Our unknown is I am.

In ballet class they were always chiding us to not allow the difficulty of the act to be expressed in the hands… We girls were being taught the art of concealing art, ars est celare artem, the method wherein obfuscation becomes a weft to gird the warp of technique.

I mourn again my wrong belief / that evil can ignite the arrival of good

When it comes to commemoration, / the great advantage of sculpture/ is how it tends to outlast / not only what happened / but everything surrounding it, / suggesting a context / is that which rots away.

The syllables of my beloved are sweeter / than the cherry yogurt that once brimmed / these cups, her clavicle sturdier than corncobs, / her skin fairer than papery onion skins.

Three hours, midday: state minimum. / Three hours, midday: the god and her child deep in the forest.

It is said that a certain woman went to visit her sister. Before she knocked, she peeked through the curtain and witnessed something she had never seen.

I like to be a little cold what / / I mean is I need to feel just / uncomfortable enough to know I’m still / alive