The town was wet from storms and the church was full while the priest gave an exegesis. The world outside did not bother with words or cleverness busy as it was with the real wisdom of its own natural cycles. During the night before, many sheets of rain arrived…

Life to her had come to resemble one of those mazes you find in a puzzle book, inscrutable except by those with exceptional IQs. Mary would run her pencil down one path in search of the passage that might penetrate to the exit, then another, but the paths

Marge came home with a Doors CD.

A woman posted a story on Fictionaut about discovering that her husband was a werewolf.

I wanna make banana peel poems-- slippery little booby traps

Buyers of freelance writing have a well-deserved reputation for responding slowly, thereby increasing your pleasure in much the same way that the Pointer Sisters longed for a slow hand.

Fuckin' A . . . (you're staring out the window — trying to see something — but, it's pitch dark out and besides, it's the fuckin' Midwest for miles and miles and miles . . . whaddaya think you'd see, anyway, smart guy?).

Finally my daughter emerges from behind the silver curtain, riding piggy-back on a gigantic proboscis monkey. She's preoccupied by his nose, and wrings it like a wet dishrag with both hands. If it hurts he's not showing it.

lifes weird, man/

Talking about the event years later, all of the observers agreed to a surprising extent on God's details. God was not an old man with a beard, nor a halo of light, nor a burning bush. God was an absence, a disruption of vision. When you looked right at Go

When he was 24 he ran away with a girl, forgot about his little office job in the city, went with her to the mountains, just the two of them, to live out a life of romance that a chalk box like the metropolis can’t give you—

What if blood engorging your penis could be the result of emotions other than sex and violence? Wouldn't it be nice if your dick could be used to express the lengths and depths of other feelings?

At Mythos Fine Art, 7 pm at 930 Dwight Way #10, Berkeley, CA (at 8th St.) go to www.mythosfineart.com reading with Rick Ryan. I'll be reading from my newest book of Poems: The Six Second Rule

I’m out there all day, all hours waitin’ to go back in the women's shelters anyway. Street... that's where we do do the talkin' and the rantin' and the pantin'.

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The doctor sucks the fetus out of her with an Electrolux vacuum cleaner, and it’s the same one my ma uses to hoover the floors.