A Beautiful, Terrible Sound
The creak of a floorboard; the swift whispering shssh shssh of Victorian
dresses; the slow scrape of a spoon over the edge of a cup; the indeterminate
groan of a ghost. In Guillermo
Graffiti Guy
When I had no paper, I took to the walls.
As pens were denied me, I came upon
an old spray can with paint still in it.
No, that wasn’t it. When
After the Exile
“The exile of words has begun.”
–Bei Dao
Still they are messengers, gray
like the wall they’re up against,
gray as the night in which they
must travel by necessity, by
starlight,
Already, Not Yet
I dare you to scroll any vein of social media for thirty seconds without
colliding with authenticity. If you do so successfully, I applaud you for
somehow finding a trapdoor from the confusing
Dinosaurs, Time Travel, and the Importance of Being Where You Are
I blame the dinosaurs.
When I was young, I set my heart on becoming an archaeologist. If I had known
better, I would have aspired to paleontologist because the desire sprang from a