by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
By Gerald Solomon Rackety Amsterdam, a market stall, old disused books, two guys at chess. Heedless of rain and passers by, making and working their puzzle. Leaning head to head, nothing said. Rain shower, green awnings, wet canvas! Every raindrop a bright sky loosening from rims, becoming nothing. Two men,…
By Gerald Solomon Pictures of an artist’s pictures, in a book. Diego. He sits on a chair. All of a piece. A chair, curve-backed, body-shaped― already something of a puzzle. (A chair says it must be itself alone if to mimic human flesh and bone.) A bare floor, an elder…