January 2011
13 posts
Evening.
A plain woman is across from me at this table of plastic wood. I like the way she scratches her nose, like she wouldn’t care if it bled forever and was destroyed, can’t help but study her eyes, like snowflakes they are wavering blue, little balls of color on a colorless face, blue roses on barren plains, tiny lakes of water and I have been walking for years. I prefer brown eyes to blue, but these...
Trying to break writers block.
Light, and its absence, command your attention: in Central Park, the shadows of the branches look like black bones in the snow.
In your room, the movement of the moon shows itself on your wall, a patch of light that creeps from corner to corner as the hours pass.
All night a streetlight shines into your window.
If you live in a city, other people’s apartments are a matter of much concern.
...
