Tag Archives: love

Ghostfeed

It’s tough to always be in love with a ghost. Also it’s easy. The living don’t stand a chance against ghosts. In loving ghosts there are no real complications, no real disappointments, no real anything. There’s lots of teething on … Continue reading

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Anya Rising

Except from No Man’s Brooklyn:    I see her rising off the bathroom tiles, toes pointing downward.    I know this is a dream but I also know this actually happened, once, a long time ago.    Except then Anya … Continue reading

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Roseblood

I could feel the music of a slow future dying inside me. And the past very much alive, like shimmering beatific flowers, like luscious night-thistles. The past is a changeable feast. Except it is a feast that eats and eats … Continue reading

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The Dream Outward

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. It helps. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it makes things worse. Or keeps everything the same. Which is a different kind of worse. Anya I long to reach you only because I … Continue reading

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The Dark

Remember when we were kids and we’d sometimes have sleepovers and listen to the dark together? That’s what you called it, Anya, listening to the dark.    Sometimes we’d pretend to be camping. We’d set up a tent and eat … Continue reading

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Communion

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn:    I put on my headphones, turned on my music and hit shuffle. I eased into Nina Simone’s version of “I Shall Be Released.” I wondered about the state of Anya’s soul, and then thought … Continue reading

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Center of Nowhere

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn: I come from nowhere Daniel, and nowhere is the exact center of the world. Isn’t that exciting?    I agreed with Anya that it was, even though I wasn’t sure what she meant. And I … Continue reading

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Do You See What I See?

In the lighted cursive of stars, she finds herself, coursing, a glaring speck of cosmic language, a flickerflash dot yellowing in a deluge of night-sea, tethered to distant moons and Memory, of who she was, and is, tenderly traced and … Continue reading

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Turn

How fragile we are, how marvelous in our turns to matter, in love.    

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In Stars

Behind starry veils, embers crackle blue and gold– You were there, dancing.

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