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by Thomas Lux | |||||||||||||
![]() (For help, see a note about the audio.) Also by Thomas Lux: Henry Clay's Mouth (1999) The Man Into Whose Yard You Should Not Hit Your Ball (1998) Torn Shades (1996) Gorgeous Surfaces (1994) Virgule (1992) Snake Lake (1984)
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furnished rooms, flats, a hayloft, a tent, motels, under a table, as yet, a yurt. In these places he has slept, eaten, put his forehead to the window glass, looking out. He's in a stilt-house now, the water passing beneath him half the day; the other half it's mud. The tides do this: they come, they go, while he sleeps, eats, puts his forehead to the window glass. He's moving soon: his trailer to a trailer park, or to the priory to live among the penitents but in his own cell, with wheels, to take him, when it's time to go, to: boathouse, houseboat with a little motor, putt-putt, to take him across the sea or down the river where at night, anchored by a sandbar at the bend, he will eat, sleep, and press his eyelids to the window of the pilothouse until the anchor-hauling hour when he'll embark again toward his sanctuary, harborage, saltbox, home.
Copyright © 1996 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; July 1996; He Has Lived in Many Houses; Volume 278, No. 1; page 74. |
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