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Death in the Wasteland

I am one of those solitary, melancholy messengers To Whom cherished gifts are not given. -Rainer Maria Rilke

Excerpt from: The Golden Triangle

From her hotel window in Demarang Minou had a view of a square where vendors sold coconuts, mangoes, soda, rice and goat wrapped in banana leaves. It was very hot and at street level the sir smelled of motorbike exhaust and close cigarettes.

The Most Beautiful Word

I think “vesicle” is the most beautiful word in the English language. He was lying face down, shirt burnt off, back steaming. I myself was bleeding. There was a harvest of vesicles on his back. His body wept.

The Fox Hole

“Oh Great,” she yelled, “a fox hole!” and jumps right in. And just in time, too, because a shell immediately explodes a few feet away, throwing a clump of dirt on her head.


We used to live in an old house. One of those European old houses that didn’t make it to the New World. Built back in the days when Europeans were still busy destroying Europe.


The Brooklyn Rail


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