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The Touch

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For months my hand was sealed off in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings. Perhaps it is bruised, I thought, and that is why they have…

The Starry Night

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That does not keep me from having a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. –Vincent…

The Stand-Ins

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In the dream the swastika is neon and flashes like a strobe light into my eyes, all colors, all vibrations and I see the killer in him and he turns…

The Road Back

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The car is heavy with children tugged back from summer, swept out of their laughing beach, swept out while a persistent rumour tells them nothing ends. Today we fret and…

The Red Dance

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There was a girl who danced in the city that night, that April 22nd, all along the Charles River. It was as if one hundred men were watching or do…

The Poet Of Ignorance

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Perhaps the earth is floating, I do not know. Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups made by some giant scissors, I do not know. Perhaps the moon is a…

The Play

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I am the only actor. It is difficult for one woman to act out a whole play. The play is my life, my solo act. My running after the hands…

The Other

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Under my bowels, yellow with smoke, it waits. Under my eyes, those milk bunnies, it waits. It is waiting. It is waiting. Mr. Doppelganger. My brother. My spouse. Mr. Doppelganger.…

The Nude Swim

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On the southwest side of Capri we found a little unknown grotto where no people were and we entered it completely and let our bodies lose all their loneliness. All…

The Moss Of His Skin

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“Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next to their fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses of the tribes…” -Harold Feldman, “Children of the Desert” Psychoanalysis and…