Timothy Liu

Timothy Liu’s next book, Luminous Debris: New & Selected Legerdemain (1992-2017), will be out next year. He lives in Manhattan and Woodstock, NY. www.timothyliu.net

Winter 2014

The Gift

By Timothy Liu

When his hands were on the wet clay turning on the wheel, I did not ask what he was shaping, whether it was for flowers or wine. It was only […]

Summer/Fall 1997

Power

By Timothy Liu

These aren’t the kind of scars he can show in public, obviously, but he’s doing very well …             Dr. David Berman Half of the penis remains   for a man whose dong […]

Spring 1992

Pornography

By Timothy Liu

There was something appalling about that body, the delicate crease across the skin, the hair falling off the illuminated shoulders no thinner than my mother’s the day I saw her […]

Spring 1992

911

By Timothy Liu

We met as blind men, trying to see ourselves, groping for words to suggest an image—a doctor, a lawyer, a student—anything that we weren’t. Yet he did most of the […]

Summer 1993

Thoreau

By Timothy Liu

My father and I have no place to go. His wife will not let us in the house— afraid of catching AIDS. She thinks sleeping with men is more than […]

Summer 1993

Echoes

By Timothy Liu

The world exists again. The roses drop their petals from the railing of a ship and we wave good-bye. An open hand is a hand letting go of flowers in […]

Spring 1995

Naked

By Timothy Liu

  1.   A View Of The Garden Do we need alibis? I broke the vase into four rivers. Forgive me. Near the brook, a sweet theatrical rose. Loud. Distracted. […]

Spring 2000

For a New Century

By Timothy Liu

The authors have been winnowed. This anthology proves it. A century in the palm of your hand. What to do with the other. Disengaged the clutch the motor revs. The […]

Winter 2014

Sine Qua Non

By Timothy Liu

Your husband is your future, he says; I’m from your distant past, something on a shelf to look at. I look him over the way one looks at a German […]

Winter 2002

A Sunday Drive

By Timothy Liu

No sense of history in our bones while churches all across the South are torched. An opera critics shun overheard on that gravel road— farm vehicles clogging up the rural […]

Spring 2004

On Broadway

By Timothy Liu

The planes in the sky still half empty as ticket sales plummet. At curtain call, Hedda Gabler dusted off the gunpowder from her petticoats before thanking us for coming, a […]

Spring 2004

Of Thee I Sing

By Timothy Liu

The claim of a hoax more than a hoax underneath our skirts where oceanic musings froth at the mouth—patrons fed up with the Feds still kowtowing to that souped-up pimpmobile […]

Summer 2005

Another Anxiety Attack

By Timothy Liu

As the lights in the theater dim before they actually dim. So the price-gouged profits of war-torn Iraq. Hiatus or terminus too soon to tell. Withholding forms of control. The […]

Fall 2010

Extinguished by a Kiss

By Timothy Liu

The hospitals are emptied of supplies only to find their floors covered in blood. Once again our bank accounts are drained. The remains of a ten-course meal are wheeled back […]

On Broadway

By Timothy Liu

The planes in the sky still half empty as ticket sales plummet. At curtain call, Hedda Gabler dusted off the gunpowder from her petticoats before thanking us for coming, a […]