Author: Sasha Burshteyn

COSMOLOGY  Cold hands—warm torso—time like an orange— time like a bag of salt gray oxen drag— How many years of salt? Then, one day, a shell.  And fire, where joints should be.A field of rose, a town  of anthracite, river of milk— a face that hisses, sizzles— girls who sort potatoes in the dark—I orient myself by smell. …