Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Richard Siken
Extract from Twitter
I’d probably live on the moon except I think I’d miss the moonlight, driving my rover from crater to crater in darkness.
Extract from Twitter
A kid underneath a tablecloth insists he’s a ghost. A table underneath the tablecloth is, I guess, like the rest of us, just pretending to be invisible. When I grow up, I’m going to be a truck, says the kid underneath the tablecloth, and that’s one way o deflect the weight of the inevitable, to insist on possibility in the face of grownups and the pumace of their compromises.
Tablecloth was written by Richard Siken.