It is a piece of history only a man with nowhere to go would prime…

The brush tattoos the dry gesso with corruption’s purple. It taps like a bird beak,…

Midway down the glass-colored liquid. Now as always, in the same place. The fingers move…

Goose-grey paper, waterlogged with lamentations, gay nineties font that runs, here and there, in mini-atlas,…

Lips part as though to receive the heavy emptiness. Loops of wire, thin as eyelash,…