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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

En Paris

Paris smells like roses and bodies and begs the question of love. What good, she demands, is that kind of love? Shattering of plates, locked doors, black and white photos hidden in drawers...
I am beginning to see, Malte Laurids Brigge said, and you do see faces here in a different way. They linger. They recede inward. Le Lundi. Quiet night. No dogs. Her body matters more than words. The question dips in the night. Her muscles soften.
Placenta. Cords. Window.