In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

6 Art of a Cold Sun I realize the horse seen from an airplane looks like a violin, though it is more and otherwise . . . seizing gives a shape to jealousy, to make-believe sins of off-key laughter, as if hiding a mouse in my vest pocket . . . all of a piece from the sun’s rude nightly defection. One must judge much junk before it becomes someone’s art. Ever consider the heretical impulse as prologue to new orthodoxy, complicated as a hair. How plausible an eye that could herd scorpions. In feral ways, marble-mouthed, you come to think of it, art’s enlightenments and the sting of its tail. Apologies and claims made. Warnings and promises issued. Time won’t lie, but it’ll wink. ...

Share