Tag Archives: Sam Frankl

It’s sneaker-white where the blinds let the light in bleaching skin and cloth all uniformed in a vast bath of absent pigment. The subject the subject, in perspective, long lines drawn from bed stem to headboard, spaghetti rolled in starch … Continue reading →

Get sick on watching ’em weighed down with consumption, deep gorges in forearms, where bag straps have cut fat down to off-white bone. Red and scarred, up and down like Chinese burns or bangles inked on stretched skin. And under … Continue reading →

Your suits will dismantle themselves, like broken eggshells with no yoke. Your knitwear will unravel from your navels, like placenta in bed pans. Your polos will recycle and return to the cotton fields, in droves. Your three-piece, faux-leather, deconstructed, jumpsuit, … Continue reading →

There were very, very thin paths, in the grass, over the small hills, that come to constitute wilderness, when living on a small island with many, many other people. The rolling downs, where you dragged me, like fathers will, lie … Continue reading →