FalangeOur arrival is gradual, discreet,but we’re certain, as certainas six and seven make thirteen.The hour doubles itself, heightensas we drive past, ever smugand rounding up silences.We’re severe, as completeas… More

LullabyNight after night, exhausted,digesting the day, past wordsand this side of sleep, we lie simplified,stripped of past lives and projects,weary of voices and verticals,relieved to be only bodies side… More

Trompe l'oeilAll the failures of an existence,when meticulously compiled,and given a certain coherence,resemble a sort of pyramid—monumental—though truncated,maybe—when seen from a distanceat the precise moment the fadingsun reaches it,… More