Home Sweet Nothing

Open, close, then open again — I’m all lungs and fingertips, thinking about the pseudo-green buds I saw yesterday. Too early for them,...

even if the blood is wine-dark and sticky sweet, even if flows down your back and soothes the scars, even if you smile to run your tongue...

What I remember: feeling cold, and tired, and vaguely unclean, as though I had forgotten to shower that morning. Somewhat hungover, which...

Books: The Waves by Virginia Woolf Pure Color by Sheila Heti The Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides Cat’s Eye by Margaret Atwood I Who...

an excerpt by William Carlos Williams