December 2011
29 posts
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It was the thumbprints of human imperfection that used to move him, the flaws in the design: the lopsided smile, the wart next to the navel, the mole, the bruise. Was it consolation he’d had in mind, kissing the wound to make it better?
- Margaret Atwood, Oryx and Crake
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He knows how things work. This moves her. This is what makes her perpetually move. On his desk, a Newton’s Cradle— silver balls always in motion. She will make the long trip uptown and back again and again to sit with him. She cannot understand how
we relate to stars, but she finds clues in small things, the mark a fingertip will leave on every object, the fine film of breath slicking surfaces....
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I know the thoughts that surround you ‘Cause...
