#CanadianWriters
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
Two voices took turns using my eyes: One had manners, painted in watercolours, used hushed tones when speaking
i Behind glass in Mexico this clay doll draws its lips back in a snarl; despite its beautiful dusty shawl,
He would like not to kill. He wou… what he imagines other men have, instead of this red compulsion. Wh… fail him and die badly? He would l… finger by finger and with great te…
In that country the animals have the faces of people: the ceremonial cats possessing the streets the fox run
How did I get so dutiful? Was I… Going around as a child with a sma… sweeping up dirt I didn’t make, or out into the yard with a stunte… weeding the gardens of others
The body dies little by little the body buries itself joins itself to the loosened mind, to the black…
You begin this way: this is your hand, this is your eye, that is a fish, blue and flat on the paper, almost
He was the sort of man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Many flies are now alive while he is not. He was not my patron.
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…
Those whose houses were burned burned houses. What else ever happ… once you start? While the roofs plunged into the root-filled cellars,
There are similarities I notice: that the hills which the eyes make flat as a wall… together, open as I move to let me through; become
In the secular night you wander ar… alone in your house. It’s two-thir… Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen…
This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons
You walked in front of me, pulling me back out to the green light that had once grown fangs and killed me. I was obedient, but
