Universal Studios of riot interspersed with whites holdingguns and carryingpeople away.
Bile-colored flutes survive along bog rock,red-veined with a fine fuzz: canebrake pitchers hooded against the good rain.
The first address is of the house we rented twenty years ago, when our kids were young. Ten minutes on foot—half a mile—from the place where we now live. In reality, however, there is no address, not any longer.
To continue reading, please...
The hotel where she had hoped to spend a very happy week was in a small village in Tuscany at the end of two trains and a bus, facing a wheat field.
My parents live in Los Angeles, in a shambling three-story in the Hollywood Hills.
The sound from some other kind of space or craft and foot set in a downtown, US shotsinto windows
The entrance is flanked by concrete lions that have lost their features to time and weather; they could be sea lions.
