Latest Works

When I asked the monk what follows death, he struck the bell and asked who was listening. I said: the wind. He said: then let the wind answer. In the garden, a stone pretends to be nothing. The moss does not correct it. I dreamed I drowned in a river flowing upward. Fish passed through my chest without apology. Was I dead? Was I water? The river did not ask. At dawn, incense loosens into a shape that almost remembers being human. The bell rings again: this time inside my bon

Marco Riggs kept his clinic down an alley behind O’Halloran’s Laundry, around the corner from a noodle shop that never opened. The steam vents never stopped hissing. The walls sweated bleach. He wasn’t quite a doctor anymore. Turns out it’s easier to lose a license than the habit, especially with a quick temper and a taste for horses. It didn’t matter. The syndicate found a use for him. They dragged the city’s dregs through his door. Men who drank themselves to sleep becaus

Sometimes I venture to make a risky journey.  I go to the past, long ago, distant and perilous. The road I take has been built entirely by me,     in very hard a way no one at all dreams of. Rough a path and full of so many deviations,  that even me, well used to, I go so timorous.    Now, I see that there were no other choices,  for only this way would lead me where I am.    Where and what I must be ever since I was.  In this visit, I see friends, lovers, enemies, grandfathe