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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.