Sherod Santos

The one-armed pencil-seller  at the Place des Vosges spins out drum-rolls on a tin              can topped with aluminum foil, so dexterously— three pencils, one between each  finger of his remaining hand—passersby        a [...]

Stalled in snowlight, one is constantly entering by false mirrors. A red pane suggesting blood, later flames. Or going about it routinely, as the air itself, as the image of air, smoking in the corridor, like a father. Still, it could have been an em [...]