The shepherd-poet measures himself against the void, cuts from the canvas of nothingness a poet shaped outline which he massages into a coat, his fingers working against its pliant…
Locked under linocut trees, slabs with lyrics or long phrases on them. A field of stones that only say “MOTHER” “FATHER” “HUSBAND” in low relief under leaves—the birds of…
Diego painted the mother cradling him. Frida painted him as he was in death— eyelids parted (hold a mirror: no breath). Diego painted the mother cradling him. The mother…
He told me the story of absence, its contents, the thickness of its spine, nicknames of guards providing blurbs, the setting which is neither place nor not-place.…