Driving in the American West, reading Celan and the Mahabharata. After the war, Arjuna drops the bow forged by Brahma back into the ocean, relinquishing it
Night’s endlessness taps at the mind, my jet lag a constant drip down the windows. Because I am here for a month, a girl returned to her mother, I let myself go soft
What about the man who cannot touch anyone without them morphing into the only woman he loved and lost? Not recklessly, but like a river diverted by a stone’s weight,