Paul Adler

Pretend we are not dying and that the rocking horse remembers all our laughter as if to love were always to be recorded. Families of stars separate in the sky and holding you I remember that all the iron in a human body can make two small nails. Two small nails: one for each wrist, […]

The blurred cypress has its own quiet math as you speed divine with the white tongue of a cloud descending to lick a strip mall. Motion is a means to forget, so that each fluorescent burst of brush is erased, so that all night cities are replaced by brighter versions of themselves. A small benevolence, […]