Death

Broken, the madrilenial butterfly finally suckles / from the dime blood at the ankle of the tube sock.

The debut novelist of Self-Portrait with Boy on the DUMBO of the 1990s, accidental art, and the importance of being unladylike.
The story’s “contents” are spun from actual events: in August 1973, Klaus flies to Los Angeles to meet his then-partner, Lynda Benglis (referred to as “Her”), who was to drive cross-country with him back to New York. Instead, he drives back alone, lost in a disputatious reverie circling around language, Gertrude Stein, modernist literature, mapmaking, and the act of writing.

I remember your torso locked in a twill shell. / I remember the same rotating body bare. / Is my sadness ever any different?

Historical analogies between the Civil War period and our own time are plentiful in a conversation about the author’s much-anticipated first novel, Lincoln in the Bardo.

I saw C.D. Wright at a party once. I wasn’t her friend or her student. She was beautiful and graceful; something girlish about her face under the white hair.
A few years ago, I drafted two linked stories, one about Kurt Cobain and the other about Raymond Carver. Both grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Both had fathers who worked at a sawmill. Both were, in one way or another, working-class kids.

The Dogtooth filmmaker talks about The Lobster, finding the right tone, and the state of Greek cinema.
Blue window where we waited for you.
I sit down this morning to write about this image. This image—which might be a poem—that I made as the result of an experiment.
The Tenants
Things were happening. It was festive and official: everyone in the building was allowed to take the elevator.
