Tag Archives: Composition

Lost in the Narrative

The cabin is clapboard white, its slanted roof white, drifts of snow are white.  If not for the sun’s glitter, all would disappear.  No one has written the story, as of yet no black letters.  There comes the old woman, bent like a … Continue reading

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Flux, March

The pristine snow,abandoned, sinks — a sooty skin. Broken objectsrise up. An arm, stairs, cardboardboxes shockedby fetid air, my head  pushes from themud, the primordial churn, seething, thick with saltyactivity. Shit or fish sauce?  Callit March.

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