Alphabetical stories

A House Alive with Oblivion

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A House Burning

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There won't be dancing, anymore. That isn't true, that can't be true; but there is no floor to dance on, you know?

A House Made of Stars

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My cousin had put them up last year, showed me when we stood on her bed as her fingers pointed, traced over the outlines, then turned out the lights, so that I could see them glow.

A Hug from Rumpelbitchkin

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She shifts in her armchair, shadowed beneath the dark pitched roof, gently replaces her chipped white china teacup in its saucer. It's started again. It's how they go, their whisperings, egging younger children to climb the steps to her attic apartment, a

A Hundred Feet

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Why I roamed these flats, choir-Like floors of a century forgivenAnd wedded in an XXL gownIs beyond us. Give me something extra, please. This Town rides in like a school bus.

A hushed something

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Her skin is muddy earth/ I'd gladly play in.

A Jeep Wrangler, a moped, a bank bag, Woody Guthrie and stained teeth

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A bank bag now hung from those teeth—yellow-gray rancid, decaying teeth, strands of tobacco chew laced in between. Those thin pen mark lips could not hide the teeth’s keyhole spaces, shaped by open cavities—the bank bag hung from those teeth. The me

A Jenga Piece a Time

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Ryuu looked up and saw color seep back into his life. Warm hues reached for his numb heart. His body's coldness was thawed with the tender embrace that wrapped around him so tight he couldn't let go if he had wanted to.

A Journey of Seven Thousand Miles

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The taste of / what is denied us is always sweet

A Journey Within A Journey

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Cousin Rudy pulled up a cod / out of season / we were rigged for haddock, / it was dressed for the weather

A June Defection

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I came from the only flat region in the kingdom of mountains and fjords, and called the city “Down in the Dumps”. The beleaguering mountains smelled a flatlander when they saw one, and hated me right back.

A Jungle Tale

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He awoke with a start. This was not the first time he did so. He couldn't afford these occasional bouts of sleep. And certainly not in the land of the Tsantsa hunters.

A Killing in the Market

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Everyone hoped to be assigned somewhere they could just drop in on their way home for Memorial Day weekend. Someone said, Blake, you’re single. You hate your family, don’t you?

A Knobby Thing

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She feels ugly but ready for anything.

A Language in Decay or the Progress of a New World Vernacular

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All poets that end their poems with words like cancer should be hungSingers sweetly croonAbout the blood of the lambNail pierced handsThorny crownAnd 39 bloody stripes. …

A Lapse in Concentration

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[...] A crimson post-it note/ illustrates the squiggle of a resting pulse wavering/ near the broken pencil leads and whorls of/soft wood which may be classed as evidence.

A Late Encounter with a Circular Future

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Grange was still cussing up storms and other calamities in the well-illuminated heat of central Kansas at mid-day when he thought he spied Dennis Hopper . . .

A Leaf For Instance Is Only a Green Enough Calling Card(A Valentine)For Someone

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Because you alone must know how to smile at me and be like the sun,I can feel its warm and cooling colors becoming that perfectly deepened yellow then on to red.That cloud is floating like an opening flower gently laid on…

A Lei for a Sailor

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Petroleum products leaked from her shattered hull, still stinking of a battle its leaders not only lost, but forfeited.

A Lesson

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She’s the worst student in my Modern Film class and we’re alone at a bar.

A Letter

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I write to you from waiting for the world to end. I will leave this in a desk drawer.

A Letter

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"This is a life lesson for you all, right here," the coach said. "Don’t ever confuse effort with results—got it?”

A Letter

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"You have to knock somebody on their butt."

A Letter From Uncle Bernie

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...Truth is, it’s because of fabulously wealthy men and women like myself who long ago sucked all the cream out of the bottle, and now we’re coming back for whatever milk remains.

A Letter Opener

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Inside that envelope was a letter, I'm happy to report. It was from my foster child in Monte Carlo, a boy named Monty or Carlo, I can never remember which since he always signs his letters Sonny.

A Letter to Saint Francis de Sales – Patron Saint for Writers

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I've been struck with a bout of writer's block, struggling to get pen to page or finger to keyboard....So I make paper airplanes.

A Letter to the Girl I May or May Not Have Slept With Last Night

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Can I really be blamed? Look at the circumstantial evidence: you wore that skirt, which can hardly be called a skirt. More like a very wide plaid belt.

A Letter to the Global Warming

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I am mightily pissed. I was, like, waiting for you last night, at the Greenhouse cafe, and you stood me up. I should have listened to my mom who always advised me not to go on blind dates, but you are so popular that I just couldn't help myself. When I ca

A Life

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Born, he stood up. He wore nothing as often as possible

A Life Lived In Outline

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He began life as we all do, an almost indeterminate blob. Ultrasound sonar plotting his outline on screen. The echo chambers of his beating heart dispelling the ectoplasmic impression of mere ghostly existence. His rudimentary …