After Darin Elliot (my collaborator on Elephant in the Living Room, whose bright new solo publication Elephant in the Shadows was featured in a recent posting), and I quarantined together for more than ten weeks, he moved on (to upstate New York, then to Boston) for a couple of months but returned in September for(…)
‘wake up Philip” after breakfast arid and precipitous lies were beautiful something must be done at the outside embarrassed but gallant such perfect French stick funnily two tall girls only twenty-nine ‘I hate English life’ native insistence how little done
muddy whim so-called governor or oysters or food get news too much no luck a little nut-full they all lied pen, paper unlearned, incurious ever disentangle I should give you their new flag unnatural lives baby clothes, baby clothes
Darin Elliott, with whom I co-wrote “Elephant in the Living Room” (the family story of an alcoholic intervention for middle school-age kids) got trapped here with me between stays in London and North Carolina. As it ended up, he and I co-quarantined for ten weeks. I got Covid-19, he didn’t, we sent away for and(…)
clear away human traces distrust the country sick breakable all weather ‘I look like what I am’ benign to brutal a long line of bullies wide guileless they wait other people’s holidays sly and unseen her apron always going to leave nuns and priests in the wrong life
there are fleecy clouds nor trim schooner two desks with the same ceremonies commonplace and soiled dead or better a green vista it’s not frills joke about religion brown, dull coconut trees every shofer blew his horn in shadow the law is the law as a tobacconist and news agent ‘take no risk, sir’
water works better than milk between it and Skeet has happened to food too the same French font a breadboard white cows all a good set of eyes to Herman slap the TV with orange eyes unintended quiver ‘ivory, do not’
Greek fish soup this week taste the name scrawny fruit also richer ‘as it pleased me’ there is a timeline covered in sand chase a bird naive is not not even now a hock sad, I said happy in a sad way low volume
tracing a cross a rain of clots frozen puddles smokey with snow Siberia and abroad midst of perpetual riddles pedagogue and popularizer embraced by woods by right of friendship only the daughters the color of shame crickles of sweat
state of calm neighbors in pajamas inroad Virginia saw the works of Darwin with bags and boxes in Mecklenburgh Square exclusion from tale of sneers and locked doors completing, sweetening war-terror it will break the clutch exactly who a girl who died Pound’s mother on books instead August 1939 obstructed by sandbags(…)
