Mark Svenvold

The kind of gray I mean involved an envelope of cloud cover: there were boyhood enthusiasms and blue enthusiasms, and others; but mostly there was a war whose fire burned like some Kentucky mining tragedy, & found an afterlife in a deep seam in the e [...]

Full moon and a siren wailing, the freeway a quarter-mile off, somnolent, never sleeping—half a cigarette gone, when up the steps she comes in search of an edge, the world a verb in her throat: she is small, her coat the color of sandalwood, and s [...]

The garage lit by a solitary bank of lights. Enough to work by, a dingy light— green on green enamel cinder-block, rows of blackened windows high-up. Static and fuzz—the knob on the radio broken off, the radio smudged with finger-prints, grease. [...]