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Tag Archives: Nora Claire Miller
no blades anywhere. the busiest clock, the afternoon that aches to smell like breath, the chin in sloping hands, I found the elevator bed, South Street Seaport when all we had were bodies, just another ringing now, just a pair … Continue reading
It was supposed to be a dream where I died at the end and by the beginning of the dream I was starting to die already. The taxi wrapped itself around central park and left a trail of me behind … Continue reading
In the ending to the story I never write there are one hundred windows in the movie theater and the boy knows how to signal with a flashlight. Each time the boy gets hurt the morning breaks again, and a … Continue reading
after Lucille Clifton every morning i pull myself through sleeves from a night that was not elastic and a pair of mouths filthy with sleep. the high step down to carpet is a burial. and who are these people burying … Continue reading