Tag Archives: no man’s brooklyn

Boy and Girl

   I remember the time, Anya, when my mother asked about you and me. I was thirteen. My mother’s sickness was in its early stages. She had already turned the couch in the living-room into her sickbed. She hated lying … Continue reading

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Timeshare

It is scary once you realize that the past can be changed, and that the future is fixed, a rigged absolute. Knowing that changes everything. And what about the present? For some the present is intolerable cruelty, unimpeachable company. For … Continue reading

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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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Distance

 People have called it the glow, the click, the hum, and for every abnormal drinker, for every addict, you are willing trade in everything for what amounts to a rigged facsimile of eternity. It is the sort of false eternity … Continue reading

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Fathers and Sons

I understand that I am not only with my father and grandfather as family, but also as a writer. I am sketching them. The mechanical hand in my mind that never stops is charting and sketching and composing them. I … Continue reading

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Swing Set

   There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails.    You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new.    My mother had died three days earlier.    You and I … Continue reading

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Forever’s Youth

   Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever.    It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves as a couple, this … 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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Boneyard’s Way

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This is what I … Continue reading

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