Room 305 in the Bowery Hotel smelled like sex, meaning the juices of desire and the dank odor of sweat. Jack was dripping in heat and...

How badly my pain wants to be unique So scared of it’s ordinariness  Its watery impersonality Its plain featured face It constructs a...

Mumbai smelled as strong as the working hands of the laborers in the Dharavi slum.  Tardeo smelled like white fish and coconut the Parsis...

Impulse is thoughtless The body is propelled to do To love, to eat, to fuck How can I allow myself to be led By what I don’t know I want...

At midnight in Mumbai the air is heavy The ocean is a dress of rippled silk The night props its elbows on the water's surface There's a...