for NatalieEver since I met you I’ve been fighting the urge to apologize.My fingers are, sometimes, stupid, and I’m often overzealous, words bursting like flares in uncertain skies, notes frenzying the felt innards of pianos. The sandalwood scent, the sidelong glance of a foot lamp, the careful work of your kidneys as they sort what’s …
after Alfred HitchcockSomething about the lure of the moon, the black-and-white gloom of futon and Turner Classic Movies, the sub-suming chug of the train pulls me to you, you campy Raskolnikov, you backlit chatterbox, criss-crossed legs and double scotch perched on Promethean overreach. You muse, dearBruno, on the perfect murder, the ol’ switcheroo, the you …