A Funeral In Bangor

I know how I’ll dress when you’re gone waist small as two fistslips laquered black,black as the pineI’ll rap with my knucklesto see you out, to see youspun into cinderson a loom at which Death toiledwith sympathetic fingersturning dustinto gold I know how I’ll stand meeting the shiftinggaze of any who thoughtI was a shadowfromContinue reading “A Funeral In Bangor”

The Rhythm Of A Number

Memories hurt more in the summeror mine do, at least;I can only speak for myself,myself being all that I know-human feeling has long beenother to me, each mood and whim returning as unfamiliaras the scent of outerspace;they say that it smells like char,and somehow that speaks to memore than people ever didbecause I knowhow itContinue reading “The Rhythm Of A Number”

The Last Exhibition Of Erzebet Almo

I photographed Erzebet Almo’s last exhibition, but I didn’t keep any of the pictures for myself, not so much as a thumbnail. Even if they hadn’t been highly censored as one of the most controversial moments in modern art history I wouldn’t have wanted too seek them out; it made me sick to look atContinue reading “The Last Exhibition Of Erzebet Almo”