Dumont never likened Dumont to a poet. Nobody would, though the thought was still funny. Dumont, caressed by some foreign fantasy, pink...

March 16 I discovered three seeds at the base of my teacup in the kitchen’s quietest hours. Not lemon, not cardamom. Glossy and...

Richard had long ago determined that the apocalypse, for all its biblical grandeur, was ultimately a bore. The undead were predictable,...