
November 2005
I live in an 8-ft-square concrete cube with a round hobbit door, on the lip of a cottonwood river valley in the Upper Bajada. Peacocks scrabble on the tin roof of my cube. When the sun rises I climb from my cube up to the city on top of the mesa, where there are many Italian cedars like tall green pencils and olive trees heavy with black fruit which we poke with knives and submerse in huge tubs of brine. My best bud is a skater dyke from portland with light in her eyes. I can reach out and pick a lime while I shower in the greenhouse. Everything is apse-shaped, yes, shaped like an apse. |
|||
