Monthly Archives: April 2013

Meter Maid

Vita, Rita, our living Lolita Doomed to live as a tiny girl Barely five feet tall, a few inches less An ounce or two more than four stone A child of twelve perhaps in appearance A prolifigate of twenty in … Continue reading

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on writing my novels

I write my novels by hand, in ink, in verse. Then I translate them into computer prose. In many ways, the verse version is better, but it belongs to me. Humanity doesn’t deserve epic poems. Prose is good enough for … Continue reading

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on books

I don’t lend books. I give books. And I certainly don’t borrow books. What, are you crazy? I own my books.

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Tommy

by Lord Malinov We lived on Jarnigan Street, a lazy road that circled back to the one it diverged from. No one ever drove down our street, except those of us who lived on it. Jarnigan Street was a children’s … Continue reading

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Dennis

“Dennis deals,” said Pat, “I think.” “Really?” “I think,” Pat repeated. “Ask him.” Dennis had the disheveled appearance of a stoner, but I had never pegged him for a dealer. In the few months I had known him, almost a … Continue reading

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