ALEINU Dear Allen Ginsberg, no angelheaded hipster am I, nor have I ever seen those staggering Mohammedan angels– not in my deepest swirling dreams. Some life force always drew me back from the brink, before plunging that angry needle in
Like clockwork—a little after sundown— Rosa raises her snout from her front paws. It’s that damn skunk again. She whines and snivels, and parades back and forth until you have to open the door. You pray that she won’t find
A crumpled, upturned steamer trunk lies at the head of a cobbled path— across the path is a toddler’s shoe. I must squat to touch the strap of the trunk. No, it’s not leather, it’s bronze, like the tiny
The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp.
To get there, you walk up a steep hill, past the parking lot where the cars are neither new nor luxurious.