Martha Ostheimer

In my dreams there is always a popular disease, something everyone really wants, something you can say you really have with certainty, a certain land of last chance strumming and numbing of desire. In my dreams the pretty girls need it the most, that [...]

To lie in the street. To be at the bottom of this puddle dark as lead. Near the curb, in the muddy cold water, to rot like the leaf of a poplar. Underneath the streetlamp. At the bottom of a puddle. Like a ticket from a tram or the scrap of a newspa [...]