← Vie’s Library
not by conjuring or astral contrivance.
It was running out of everything, especially future.
He said grief had cost him heavily. Sadness banished heartening memories.
A man of avid hopes and abundant plans.
sharp disappointment. Bitterness no doubt. Against judgment I went and got attached.
Lawmen will invoke the law but the only law they really know is gravity. Force flows downward
All joined in such a way that something begun long ago now became a pattern.
I was new to ironies and watched them pile up.
the risks of introducing another life into generalized decay.
An umbrella against the fractious deity. He
An umbrella against the fractious deity. He was suspected of wisdom but it’s a tough thing to prove.
Is it so much to ask? A three-chord song, a common life? Could we all have that, someday? Could I?
truly I struggled to lift her, as if the whole substance and magnitude of her future were jammed into those spindly feverish limbs.
So what if Folsum was wordy? Sentiment is not deadly in small doses.
I remembered people who remembered those days.
We crept at the rate of agony
I never was anyone’s parent, so this rapid expansion of love and terror confounded me. Both things occupying the same space.
She said Pastor Leake was a decent man who often mistook his worldview for the world, a common churchman’s error.
Can you imagine losing it? Sure, I’d miss the dreams it brings, but even more the sense of buoyancy. Of a body adrift at
medium depth. For the few seconds you notice that sleep has found you—on your way down to it, or on your way up—that’s when the world can almost fit. Chaos, horror, the great unspooling—all suspended.
That’s what I believe. Maybe I still could. What scares me is the notion we are all one rotten moment, one crushed hope or hollow stomach from stuffing someone blameless in a cage.