Ac(c)ount - by Camelia Elias →
For Charles With the books it’s always the same. You read, you read, you read. History repeats itself. All the time. Once there were angels as many as flies, Simic tells us. Then there were the young ones who died with passion in their blood, Blaga tells us. And I, I. I am someone’s secret. I live and fly. I vacillate between the boots and the books, the cantors and the kisses. I’m forty, how...