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Wayne Wolfson
Can't Get Started
by Wayne Wolfson
I had been thinking of home when I died. “Do you want a drink now?" she asked. “A drink-drink?" “Mais oui." The modus operandi of an angel with a mean streak. How had I gotten here? Her place, I had been here once but that was as part of a crowd which became a roving party, stopped only by the first rays of a new day's sun. That ...
read moreRue Coquilliere
by Wayne Wolfson
For SybilleI had let the water in the tub run dangerously high. Almost up to the lip, where it threatened to soak the Balzac I had balancing on the corner. I would have to move, slowly, not make even a ripple, but for now I could not be bothered. In a few minutes the news would end and inbetween spitting out static, the jazz program would begin. I had accompanied her to the cooking ...
read morePiroshky
by Wayne Wolfson
I did not turn the light on as to not wake her up. I go into the bathroom to wash up. A brace of shadows upon the wall, the towel rack's bare skeleton, an enforced stillness. There were tiny flecks of eggshell on the top of my shoes. Again, I had gone out crayfish hunting with the old man. While we waited for the traps to fill, we would sit around and eat hardboiled eggs and oranges.
read moreThis Years Kisses
by Wayne Wolfson
We shared a mic. I hung back a little, I did not want her to have to strain. If so, I would be blamed later, like in the old days. The peace of voice and horn broken hours later by backstage accusations as I try to swallow my drink. Let her concentrate on creating that intricate mix, that night, which includes things which we all have lost, all have chased. Her voice. Find it all there within ...
read moreMusic
Recordings: As Leader | As Sideperson
