Articles by Corie Sanford:
The wind tearing shingles off—ten pounds of ground beef—a facsimile of a footrest—That's mine, and I needed it once.—he had doubled his record collection—What you experience as memories, we experience as things—I still live with him. I am always there.—the faint aroma of future worth—I'm just fine.
a version of their home; a colder, hotter, or Spanish-speaking New Orleans - I find myself in a river delta in which land is slowly, constantly, disappearing - there is a sense of indecency - my students do not know how to be lost - you will cross the street to avoid those men, you will barter with that woman for an avocado - modernity is locative, fixative; it is not transformative
I feel like Prince's Little Red Corvette - enter the word no, the will of « the people » - I went from moving machine to a silent, steaming machine on the side of the road - a progressive frieze of after photos - there is nothing I want that I have not been told to want