Category: The Alcove
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19.10: A Six – The Alcove
The Heist (episode 4) (a letter from the Soup Gobbler) The postman arrives carrying an envelope addressed, with admirable confidence, to The Gargoyle Sitting on the Right. “That’s me,” shouts the gargoyle who appears to every mortal eye to be sitting on the left, but perspective has always been a treacherous little beast and gargoyles…
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14.10: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Heist episode #3 Aurelia has three sets of plans open now, her latest computer-science coursework having taught her to distrust anything that pretends to be simple, and she works across the pages with the same excitement she brings to kernels, processes, and hidden structures, pausing only once to curse when two boundary lines refuse…
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07.10: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Heist: episode 2 “Here, let me.” Aurelia, the nervous poet, unfolds the oldest of the building plan, its paper brittle weak at the creases, enlarged until the lines blur into something between architecture and confession, then taps one narrow rectangle behind the rear rooms.
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29.09: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Alcove The Heist (episode 1) Chris, aka La Raconteuse, opens her laptop, a fork stands flag-pole-straight in our shared slice of Mimi’s Chocolate Cake for Challenging Days — she types so hard the keys chatter as she chases through New York landmarks records, Madison Avenue plans, façades, floor layouts, and every architectural scrap the city has…
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2309: A Six — SSC&B Alcove
Strikethrough a book called “Le Grand Herbier en Françoys” I am wearing time’s dust skin here: this is Montpellier University Library Archive, and beyond the tinted glass lies a flame-singed copy of Le Grand Herbier en Françoys — a sixteenth-century root-system of human knowing — it has brought me full circle, and something in me goes very still grows very…
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1409: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Alcove #3 Strikethrough Salisbury District Hospital; Wednesday; rain crawls streaks down the sky window; TV on mute the TV mutters silently; the medicine trolley rattles in the hallway beyond the door; my tea cools beside his cloudy juice; he says everything the air tastes metallic of foil; the oximeter pops slips from his finger; alarms set the room complaining, and oh how we laugh. He…
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0909: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Alcove: Strikethrough two on the fence, one grey squirrel motionless, an the other — its tail a rudder steering through speed, crimped and flagging semaphores messages; a spiderweb at the window, delicate as Brugge lace, a breeze inflicting coaxing teasing a minute tremor through its lattices; autumn arrived two months early, as though woollen socks had some private grievance against summer the world had grown impatient with…
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0409: Six Sentence Story
The Alcove: Afters Last week’s Poetry Slam has ended, the scent of cigars lingering hungry for fire to catch from a match. The proprietors gather at the end of the bar, hugs and laughter — how little separates laughter from crying, I think. Denise looks up from polishing water marks from a wine glass; “Hi…
