That landscape—unpeopled, unburiable, sun-stunned—Lifts me re-orphaned out of languageInto the nomenclature of stones,unangeled, unsought-for.
There comes a time in one’s life when one wants time, a lot of time, with inanimate things.
If you had to be out and about as a hurricane was bearing down on New York City, there were worse places to be than in the back of a limousine with Kurt Vonnegut. Especially if you were twenty-three years old...
