It wasn’t that bad. Depending on which uniform
Banged at the door I’d say we’d always lived here
Or—who’s asking? There was no shortage
Of federalist visions; we had flexible identities.
In the cities the rent was cheap. Someone’s trash
Usually ended up at my house: I’d take bookshelves;
Then there was that old couch. Burckhardt wrote
Of our unprecedented variety of life. Masses rejoiced
In the profusion of the masses—my bread and butter.... Read more
- Linda BesnerMaking Mars Feel Lived-On
- Sarah Nicole PrickettBook Seven: Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita
- Tom JokinenWhat if the Universe is Really Against Us?
- Chris RandleBeautiful Darkness, True Detective, and Illustrating the Indifferent Universe
- Alexandra MolotkowOn Alec Baldwin and the Public Shame of the Private Prick