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Violent Light
I still find myself stopping in the street, stunned by how low the clouds hang on this island.

A Fair Chunk of Our Time Was Spent Pacing and Sighing

Stone

They’re Making Video Poems About the 1990s

Evensong

Feedback Loops
The photograph of my mom refuses to leave the auditorium. We jiggle the cords, but she’s still there, twenty feet tall and gazing at the water.

His Faces Melt in the Rain
Bacon's detailed grins and snarls provide an entry point into the surreal.

Gaps and Threads

Midnight in London

We Tuned In to Watch Airplanes

Dark Trees
I never know how seriously to take anything anymore.