From Book 3: George Malkine and Louis Aragon’s Buttocks

            I had a garden. Not much of one, but in Desnos’s scrabbly yard, between the two large sunken medallions in the ground that had been apparently stolen long ago from a cemetery, I managed to plant flowers, herbs, and even a few rows of carrots, and Louis and I would crawl through the lilacsContinue reading “From Book 3: George Malkine and Louis Aragon’s Buttocks”