10 July 2016

There is a man living somewhere in the Elmwood Village strip of Buffalo who plays saxophone or air-flute, closing his eyes willing into existence the sound of jazz through pure, unapologetic imagination. The instruments do not exist, and I hear no sound.  I'm not a musician, only a listener, pale ears in a crowd, calloused … Continue reading 10 July 2016

13 March

On the first day that I visited her she told me that a spring in her mattress had been making a noise.  As we laid there and moved around, the spring made a noise and I knew what she had meant. When you left me I could not speak or breathe. I was chained to a reservoir … Continue reading 13 March