Ten Sentence Movie Reviews and Other Mussings
A fossil in foam, five toes under a formed sole, preserves the flight of a thousand border treks. A layer of thermite and blood settles the right pad of every hastily fled soul, a rusty preservation of the ash of those who were enflamed. Their left clod is encased with the dirt of…
Tiananmen Square is a clean place today. Everything is swept before it can dirty in the history of place. No sign exists of the tanks that rolled, the man in front of them, the blood that flowed like red sorghum seeds. The cracked bricks have been replaced with new tera cotta tiles. …
In the stillness of a teacup morning in Amsterdam a crowd with yellow stars query each other, a collapse of suitcases and stuffed pillow cases huddled under a gas lamp at a corner square, while those in the stories above slowly turn away. A few days before the yellow stars were twenty-one children with…
On her last ride on the Arkansas river, she watched the world turn crooked, all the hickory shading yellow, their leaf tears forming sunny arrows in the flow, nuts falling in the glide, bringing smoker memories of hams cooked under their roast, red maples tapped for their syrup, the unharvested loblolly pines dropping their branches…
Trupie Pole, this Field of Death is called in the old Slavic tongue, shares its grief with the ruins of the Catholic Church, its relics long since relocated to the hollowed knots of oaks that populate a crooked forest. Stick scarecrows, their bag heads floating phantoms, protect the border. Even the trees grow stunted…
The rain creates its own ballet starting with a lone figure on a bridge holding an umbrella in the fog splashing teardrops with his feet, doing jetes over the larger puddles, until the wind inverts his shade, plies turning to pirouettes, approaches cascading to the portal and the head of the street, dancing to a…
The Mayas of Colemnar Viejo for the last twilight hours of early May exist in mature thoughts, statues unable to address the questions designed to unseat their repose from spectators marching into shadows. By night they will know the answers that will secret their lives, grateful for Ermita de Remedios for the revelation and…
The Walnut Street pedestrian bridge hides it sorrows in bevies of Instagram brides, cheerleaders, band members wearing their school ts , leashed dogs sniffing the edges of Statue of Liberty green wanting to dive after the slowly moving boats on the Tennessee river below, couples holding hands, wisely staying to the middle away from the…
To ride the subway clutching half dead roses in a paper bag is to know that shadows have weight, light has gravity and geometry exists in algorithms of pain, that sadness is a reflection of the loneliness of space and time. Even the sisters under the MTA map, one cradled in uneasy sleep in…
