He had kept the bulk of his music library, which covered every genre from obscure Sub-Saharan drum tracks recorded on cell-phones to honey-tongued R&B to Norwegian black metal, in his parents' basement. It was the only place, he had argued, that could support the weight of it all.
...someone’s / white Dodge pickup blinkering down / the mountain, on the windshield / needle-likes, double columns, pentameters, / Bentley’s iconographic crystals / playing into zero visibility.
...the scritch-scratch of No Remedy passing first under the fall of sighs before the bridge of suicides, meaningless beneath the blue feather tips of kingfisher who shuns the deeper blue...
The buildings were rundown and whatever light came from them was like the leftover glow of an all-night party. Tonight, those same lights were electrified, lit up along the grid.
I once drove around southwest Arizona with a photographer named Pedro, from Mexico City. His specialty was making ethnographic forays into North America,…
My old friend and former teacher Steve Orlen and I walked many miles together along the wide avenues of Tucson, Arizona. Our promenades usually took place…