Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph. The rhythm the rhythm - and your memory in my head three years after - and read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud - wept, realizing how we suffer.

  • Amicus

    Quarter Snacks

    New York Times

    Harvard Design Magazine

    Architectural Record

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    Wax Poetics

    The Paris Review

    Lapham's Quarterly