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Ruby was the first one to use the word “twin.” It was a Sunday, and we were all home. I heard the telltale cries from Jace’s room, signaling that he’d woken from his afternoon nap. “Coming, buddy,” I called as I made my way upstairs to extract him from his crib. When I reached the doorway of the baby’s room, I became aware of a second cry, not so much an echo as a harmony. But
All night long I’ve been reading the Oration on the Dignity of Man by Pico della Mirandola,from which one concludes that May 14, 1486, does not exist,that spring and youth are daughters of Marsilio Ficino,that beauty by mythological right is wife of the tripod and the chameleon.
In his head my brother was a little boy, helpless, when he thought of himself, so he didn’t understand that saying things like I have a black belt or I unlocked the gun case made him difficult, sometimes, to approach.
Lord lightning crumble the lives of wicked men to salt piles and plastic dog-shit bags amassed in flies Then bless the rest of us even the screaming kid the scuttles on the subway tracksthe preacher in head-to-toe Gucci crackling Genesis out a megaphone Bless the spread-legged grandpa commuting in a humid car the bag of hammers pressed between his
As if nobody heard in the heart’s crypt the bones of the barbarous bird, nobody is nobody. Nobody the senator of suspenders. You are nobody, hat of receptions, and you, medusa hat, your elusive mercy conspiring with another class of nothing.