Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mo… a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed… to get onto my head. It’s his

Snow packs the roadsides, sends du… onto the pavement, moves through vision like a wave or sand… The bus charges this winter, a whale or blunt gray

What should we have taken with us? We never could decide on that; or what to wear, or at what time of year we should make the journey

The red fox crosses the ice intent on none of my business. It’s winter and slim pickings. I stand in the bushy cemetery, pretending to watch birds,

You begin this way: this is your hand, this is your eye, that is a fish, blue and flat on the paper, almost

Two voices took turns using my eyes: One had manners, painted in watercolours, used hushed tones when speaking

In the burned house I am eating b… You understand: there is no house,… yet here I am. The spoon which was melted scrapes… the bowl which was melted also.

An affair with Raymond Chandler, what a joy! Not because of the mangled bodies and the marinated cops and hints of eccentric sex, but because of his interest in furniture. He kn...

The world is full of women who’d tell me I should be ashamed… if they had the chance. Quit danci… Get some self-respect and a day job.

Starspangled cowboy sauntering out of the almost– silly West, on your face a porcelain grin, tugging a papier-mache cactus

Living backwards means only I must suffer everything twice. Those picnics were already loss: with the dragonflies and the clear… What good did it do me to know

I would like to watch you sleeping… which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter

More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, in… you, if possible through the skin like a cool plant’s tricks with ox…

An other sense tugs at us: we have lost something, some key to these things which must be writings and are locked against us

1. Men’s novels are about men. Women’s novels are about men too but from a different point of view. You can have a men’s novel with no women in it except possibly the landlady or the ho...