Tag Archives: Turner Wibbelsman

Dreams in Tweed

It’s Christmas Eve and I stand, just close enough to the fire to feel its pulsing warmth through my charcoal-grey slacks, the mild hum of conversation and Bing Crosby on the radio resonates with the occasional clicking of heels on … Continue reading

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Florida

In the furthest places I find images with no sound— I see green bagels and blue ink on legal paper, and the certain loops of my father’s Ls and Js: I scavenged and rushed from clue to clue in hopes … Continue reading

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Verbum Fugit

I remember rhythmic case, time-set by the periodic tap of Father’s ruler, brushing away chalk and dust from Wheelock’s cracking spine: light shed on that heft, Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum, clean with principle, robust and hearty, pounding into thicker wood. Somnium … Continue reading

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