Men are arrested overnight with nothing of mine in their pockets. I sleep late, while the morning, face full of gray stubble, waits downstairs. In another kind of world, I might have had my name and occupation detailed on a window in gold lettering.
The music is keeping secrets, but also telling stories. And I quote: Winning doesn’t feel as good as losing feels bad. Come autumn, the fog lingers longer, clocks fall back an hour per hour. I left a raincoat somewhere. Please let me know if you happen to see it sitting in the library, breath made visible.
All light is interesting, she says, waving a brush loaded with cadmium red. I have too few teeth left to smile freely or I would. There is no darkness as dark as the darkness of man.