The boy in the beanie is a vapour, a smoke ring, a dream thought… dissolving upon waking. The boy in the beanie, when I first saw him from my hidden window in the secret room of our grand State Library, turned my breath into hiccups and my novel to soup. Even then, from three flights … More Unsent Love Letters – for Barney.
The purple flower fits exactly the heavy bee whose little body, swerving like a drunkard on a string, can yet land in exactly the right way to please her. He opens her slightly, she shakes her head then quits her pouting. A gasp; she quivers. The bee drives on and, fully embraced in the throat … More The heavy bee