experimental Featured Being, Unbeing, Being — A Metamorphosis What would it be like, to kill yourself?
experimental Creative Crisis in A Minor These fragments I have shored against my ruins, Eliot wrote, and he was right, for at times I'm bursting with things I could do, or could write, and yet I'm inert, vibrating cosmicomically in potentia, but nothing's going anywhere.
experimental I get spider arms For my birthday, I get spider arms. They're expensive, but I'm worth it. You only turn 34 once, and I keep putting off getting the things I want.
experimental Elegy for a Dead Crow He found it at the roadside, one wing upraised like a flag of surrender. A crow, dead, but still intact, its body glowing in the amber streetlight.
experimental Metamorphoses, as mapped to Mahler's 9th How am I to love you, wax? I know what they've done to you. I know that your jaw is sewn shut and your eyes capped.
autofiction The Inevitable Heat Death of the Universe He is a very young priest. In fact, he is still a boy, his throat smooth, his movements pink and febrile. He moves in a stiffened pantomime of adulthood.
