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He sits in a chair of his own design, hewn from local timber. Arms laid like lumber on the armrests, trunk immobile, head erect, eyes at rest, he sees and judges who passes before him. Mostly, that’s us. Read the rest of this entry »
Yesterday I was grazing and cruising the heifers in clover. This morning I stand at the edge of the bull ring in sawdust and bullshit and sand, listening to music to salute an armada, triumphant strains for a dusty empire from trumpeters sniffing for blood. Read the rest of this entry »
All but deaf to thunderstorms and smoke alarms, nothing seems to wake him, but the guttural rasps of our breathing and the rhythmic creaking of the box spring rouse him from his bed and lead him padding in his footsies to the primal scene. Read the rest of this entry »
I used to think the drama was all on this side of the three doors, but as the tale unfolds I begin to appreciate how startled the princess or the tiger might be, when the door swings open, to confront the condemned man standing in the hallway of the apartment building at lunchtime. Read the rest of this entry »