The language/of this continent/is a prayer
(from the recent collection History of Forgetfulness) Like Eliot’s Prufrock Like a slab of meat etherized upon a table,she felt obligated to clean her fiancé. A nursepulled the curtain and left her alone with a limp rag in a bedpan full of warm, lathery water.From the unfurnished apartment […]
You don’t actually/
Have to tell the truth./
You have to invent it first.