Wild

It’s 8:26 on Sunday morning, sun has risen high enough to paint the house across the street bright, cornice only, the rest still in shadow, the tree in front of it a black skeleton. The furled awning of the building behind it flaps from time to time, tiny, an inch across maybe. Behind that the […]

Arse Poetica

On the bus today I saw the future of my ass: full, wide and deep a cushion—no, a pouffe—squeezed into jeans but an Astarte for all that. True sitzfleisch. This is what happens when you become the home front, settle in a little too well on the couch, start to become one with it. Carry […]