Then a possibility fell out of my sky and a man entered my body, his sanctuary from
the other world, a bundle of crows calling from his temporary mirror.
I walked in the silence until the silence walked in me. Then I ate.
The shadow was silent and it ate.
I decided to cover the nail in the wall with my shirt because my shirt seemed no
longer to cover me. Because his hands did not turn blue when the moon touched them, I
knew he was the one.
But why was my cloud still crying so slowly it seemed it could no longer float?
My aging beast could no longer growl. I could have been the most patient exhibit in the
Then I latched the father of my tears to the entrance. The night sky lacked only one
absence to complete its darkness. But wouldn’t a possibility have more value if you knew
it was a possibility? Wouldn’t the door open more easily if you weren’t on the inside?
Wouldn’t you want to let that poor man out?
Eventually what had been inside me drifted back into the sky and a man left with
my body, his mirror in his temporary world. Something had been removed from the
surface. Something had been placed against a wall and the tear in it had opened.
Something remained inside, but it was no longer me. I was pouring out and I was a kind
of darkness that knew how to return. I was not entirely unwelcome. I could see that in
The shirt was silent. I didn’t have to explain what it already knew. It had rested
upon me and it had held me and I had opened it. I was holding it up to the wall of a tree, a
tree that had held itself up to a wall of light, a wall of light that had held itself up to the
night, the night that was climbing out of a tear in me, a tear to keep the world apart and
Fiction. Modern Abstract Fables.
(First edition, hardcover with dustjacket, 524 pages, $36.50 USD.)
Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days draws from fairy tales, a condescending of a 1938 Social Studies reader for 6th grade, an 1890 handbook on marital compatibility, numerous annoying educational advancement studies, the myths and legends of third-world countries and minority peoples, pulp fiction, a history of carnival side shows, folktales, frequent conversations with Crows, Owls and a wide variety of underground inhabitants, insects and the people who collect them, Joseph Cornell, Günter Eich, Russell Edson, the French Surrealist poets, the Quay Brothers, letterpress printing, and the author’s inability to channel his imagination linearly.
Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.