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He found me browsing the poetry section of a bookstore.
I remembered his face from my last readings.

He found me browsing the poetry section of a bookstore.
I refused his leaflet. His voice became agitated and loud.

Singing these hymns had always been construed as a form of worship, but as my allegiance to the orthodoxy of the church slowly faded, my attraction to a cappella vocal music gradually expanded. 

Lee-ann Wilber’s Crime-Scene Bed and Breakfast

The martyr is borne
through town on the backs

of believers.
Such a ghost ship!

No one warned me. No one tells you dogs dream, and no one can say what dogs dream about. 

In synchronized swimming, one man’s bid to stay in the game.

Storm me.
Send 

me down into the dirt
& dark, raise 

me like thunder up.

On two occasions, during the preparation of this piece, people stopped me in cafés, pointing to the stack of Krasznahorkai’s books on my table, expressing their enthusiasm for his bleak comedy and particular brand of absurdity. The...