Tag Archives: Richard Manly Heiman

We arch steel dawn but can’t jump this void where swallows spin blind, and when rains come, we gargle tears and hemorrhage as one, spattering cobblestones. Richard Manly Heiman lives in the pines of the Sierra Nevada. He works as … Continue reading →

The garden fades in double sunset, still hard-edged and amber, loitering patiently. And jaundiced light, unseasonably chill, trickles like played out gold through blighted trees. From High Street Hill, the steeple cross scowls down on stained glass portals and a … Continue reading →

The mist breathes up. It hugs us and we rise with it, never wearing boots where boots should be. Strange how at ground level all that’s bony turns to mush. Can’t tell where I end and all the clinging stink … Continue reading →

(after Antony Gormley’s Transport) How many nails does it take to sketch out a body? What penny size must those spikes be? How many ells of skin—the largest organ—can be stretched with 60d nails? Does the corpse of a prelate … Continue reading →