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"One rocked himself to sleep every night,

banging his head against the wall. One

who'd been beaten for clogging the toilet,

took to shitting behind the garage. The

youngest one had night terrors."

The town killed

Safe as the Fourth of July,

       as going home again.

 

Something to hide,

     to listen to.

"Dragon's blood tree boughs stretch upwards

from a grove in the limestone plain, well within

view of red granite peaks whitened by lichen

and towering above snails, beetles, lizards,

and freshwater crabs, endemic denizens

of an archipelago isolated in space and time."

"I love writers like Anne Enright who convey the textures of ordinary life with a kind of magic that makes you feel every atom, and writers like Margaret Atwood (in books like The Year of the Flood) who make you feel what it might be like to inhabit a hypothetical future. These writers are in my head all the time. I try to live up to them as best I can."

"Sausalito houseboat sitting,

alone, waiting, chilled, abating

the foggy, groggy morning,

rocking on the deck of creaking

boards in a dilapidated chair,

fragments of a soggy, buttery

brioche chased back with yesterday’s

Blue Bottle latte"

"One more touch and I’m

up, stepping over dog toys, walking

with the hitch and stutter of age, with

the familiar tingle of nerves that spiders

its way down my arm, into my hand."

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