October 2019

     The wagon and mule, Time and Eternity, stop to change places. Their lean and slope-back shadow, my reservation. The moon moves like infested flour. At the river, bloody victories meet bloody massacres. They tell each other about their...

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I do not want to speak about the beginning
                   of this story. Were my scalp a wreath or crown
of mouths, still, I would not open.
               ...

I was Little Albert.
Nine months old in the famous film.
In a white cotton nightie, on a lab
table sitting upright
facing a camera.
Remember me? Sure.
You do.

First, you saw that I was a “curious” baby.
You saw that I blinked and stared
with all the...