Caddy
Starla and Ashley were in the back seat of the Bronco II talking to each other. Starla who is Blackfeet was talking to my niece and daughter Ashley Rose who is Salish and Irish and also Chicana. Starla said “Oooks! Did you see that caddy purple jacket Sheila had on? She was standing by the […]
The Entrance of the Artists
There was something so moving about how they would recede. The figures would waver in the vaguely human-shaped but more-than-human, larger-than-human, portals in the heights of the dome to take their fill. I would watch them come forth, lean out, gape. Their faces in gray distance visible as tiny, skin-colored moons set above the hues […]
Being in Public in Los Angeles
I am in Los Angeles, hiding from winter and rethinking my life. Or maybe I am rethinking winter and hiding from my life. I have been coming back to this city for twenty years, its ugly beauty beckoning. It is a cliché in conversations with displaced New Yorkers – Los Angeles is wonderful, but lonely. […]
Faithful Interpretations of Wong Kar-Wai’s In The Mood for Love
1. CHOW Did someone enter my room? LANDLORD No. CHOW No? I have lost something. LANDLORD What have you lost? Chow Mo-wan and his colleague Zhou Bing at a restaurant. CHOW   ZHOU CHOW   ZHOU CHOW ZHOU   CHOW In the past, the […]
DISINTEGRATION F_ACE
All revolutionary movements create their own ways of [facing]. -Sheila Rowbotham A face is made up. The end. + A face begins in reverse. A face equals an approximate half-second. A face looks to be ever on the edge of death, ha. A face met repeatedly reforms itself into visual static. The face composed […]
“So-called Sappho” and Other Poems
“So-called Sappho” Halfway to the opulent hotel for his friends’ wedding, Not Baby, who can’t tell if the engineer’s attracted to her despite the scar or if desire veils it the way daisies-or any leggy wildflower-will a rut, nearly missed the enormous yellow crane that had fished a boat from the river and left it […]
Madonna of the Master Bath
Fall is coming. I find myself walking past East City Park, daydreaming of trouser socks. A hot Americano in a blue ceramic cup. This morning, I am working from my desk. The leaves outside my window have begun to turn, but in a way that seems unnatural-as in, burnt orange at the edges due to […]
