Shuster is one of those unique novelists who has not only mastered the art of
telling a tight story in the Aristotelian model of plot, character, and
If you can imagine heaven as a room full
Of family and friends, of heroes and lovers gathering
All around you, throwing all of their arms around you,
The scythes are like freakish growths rooted on their hips,
and so with sharpened violence
the Mennonite boys are caught forever in cutting poses.
I have a twitch sometimes. I keep my left eye open in my sleep.
A small planet of nothing but dust,
abandoned basketball courts—
a few hapless donkeys…
So Don’t stare, the mother snaps
at the child who doesn’t mean to reduce
this dwarf, that cleft face, those
conjoined twins to oddity.
On the day of your wedding, I broke into the church.
the mayor of
our collective joy of
If we assume two things—one, that the best place to start is the beginning, and two, that the Heliopolitan Cosmogony is accurate—then we ought to start with an androgynous figure masturbating.
He sits out there in his rowboat, mouth half open, the Chicago skyline rising and falling behind him. I walk on my knees though the water. Inching closer, slipping farther out into the lake.