Category: Featured Artist

The Windows Are Always Open The body’s seasons never rest, so in death or in torture or in tongues—autumn.  The little boy huddled under Fischl’s table, sitting cross-legged, hair all in a mess, Hermaphrodite’s arm hanging over the edge, but in that painting, as in the summer that’s just passed, the windows are always open.…

Mysteries in a World That Thinks There Are None Lately you’ve been dancing with all the other boys,      and by dancing I mean screwing, and by screwing I mean holding hands and sharing secrets: ants bleed      when they’re hurt, plants are capable of intent— will grow toward a support—and love is what happens      when a…