62
Satyamurti
One day he wasn’t there. I still miss him. I know – you might well ask. But I never saw anyone so beautiful, so completely harmless. Don’t laugh – in my mind, I call him Gabriel.
Only Joking
Jokes were what he had to say for himself; they stood for small talk he didn’t know how to, for ordinary love you he didn’t know how to. Did my mother, refined as Reigate, ever laugh?
Some demon drove him to embarrass, as if to say I’ll really give you something to despise, and I not knowing who to side with When I think of cringe, I think of that.
When I brought friends home I’d will him: talk shop, fishing, anything. It took years not to mind
What goes . . . a sailor, a dog and a paper bag . . . under the ground?
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Barnes & Noble
Blackwell's
Find out more information on this title from the publisher.
Sign in with your Exact Editions account for full access.
Subscriptions are available for purchase in our shop.
Purchase multi-user, IP-authenticated access for your institution.
You have no current subscriptions in your account.
Would you like to explore the titles in our collection?
You have no collections in your account.
Would you like to view your available titles?