January 2012
1 post
December 2011
12 posts
November 2011
1 post
October 2011
12 posts
September 2011
14 posts
July 2011
5 posts
Do it, but in French
No, I’m not happy. Yes, I’ll order your take-out. Everything is alright.
June 2011
2 posts
It’s worth far more than the heat for me to be honest with you. I haven’t got much except what I’ve got and the most that we can do is have the summer. The water is free and free-flowing and it holds us at about eighty-five degrees. Pink shoulders and spotted cheeks tell you that they need to be wet in order to become dry. I can look at the East and see white light over your hand...
May 2011
4 posts
When I Looked In the Pail There Were Tadpoles. Lily. Lil. I could call you a hundred different things like a cook or a working woman, a typist or an ingredient. Then, I could put you in a frittata. I could stir you in a sauce. You could simmer in my belly like the child in your womb; wet and hot and, I presume, that your legs are spaghetti. And delicious. And mine. But more mine when you choose to...
