selected past writing at 42opus
The town goes on meanwhile,
its hundred thousand
languages opening like
flowers on another continent.
30 May 2007 | poetry
Which one did you lose? Point to the black
cavern, sucked empty by the cell in need
of bones. And what else
did she thieve of skin stretched like loose
linen, and blood
2 June 2008 | poetry
There was once upon a time a poor mason, or brick-layer, in Granada, who kept all the saints' days and holidays, and yet, with all his devotion, he grew poorer and poorer, and could scarcely earn bread for his numerous family. One night he was roused from his first sleep by a knocking at his door. He opened it, and beheld before him a tall, meagre, cadaverous-looking person.
'Hark ye, honest friend!' said the stranger; 'I have observed that you are a good Christian, and one to be trusted; will you undertake a job this very night?'