Random Encounter As we wept—my father and I—I wondered if it was for his friend, after all. I wondered if it was for him. I wonder if it was for me. Eric Jennings • writing
Anguinum The original trauma was birth and everthying that follows is but preparation for the trauma of death. Of letting go of all that we have learned. It is only through remembering that we can die because remembering is to forget. Eric Jennings • writing
What We Love Is What We Hope Is Who We Are The thing I remember most about being young is the longing I felt, though I knew not for what. Eric Jennings • writing
My Vertical Interrogation I believe I am the figment of a little boy’s imagination. He’s trying to imagine himself in the future. In a different future than the one he expects. I am ten years old imaging I am sixty-three. Eric Jennings • writing
M.A.L.ediction of My Offense, Many of Whom are Entering Us Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, by millions and millions more subpoenas, to wash it white as snow? Eric Jennings • writing
eagles toppling mountain goats he came up on an eagle on a sandbar looking over his shoulder bloody beak dripping with dead cormorant... Eric Jennings • writing
