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The Spiritualexpand_moreIf angels were made of music, surely they would vanish.
Rise the Euphrates, my first novel, grew out of a feverish dream.
Like a bird with a broken wing I will smudge the line of the hopscotch.
I keep an eye on my shit—this body, this lost cause, this bad joke— I want to be good at more than just childlessness and tying balloon animals.
“Ki-Tae the famous pastor,” Jae says to her. “Can you believe life.”
We went flying without a map as naked astronauts often do.
The sense of power that flights of temper evoke will betray you.
The eyes looked into his own with a meaning, a malign significance.
He always talked of making money with the air of a connoisseur.
How do we get there, to where we can answer what the jingle is asking.
We’d never had a cross word, but I’d never corrected him.
You and the cat wish I were baking pumpkin pie and we were happier.
“Ki o tsukete!” she called, and he knew the words. Be careful.