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----- Original Message ----- From :< brokengopher@hotmail.com> to: Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 9:15 PM Subject: The Bob Fosse Dream Dawn, Last night I had this dream that I was going through Bob Fosse's things. NowI don't know…
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Well, it looks like I’ll be having a stem-cell transplant after all...
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I couldn’t parse the grammar of her body
nor decode the secret softness of her neck.
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It’s Halloween in veterinary school. The large-animal vet who is lecturing today on introductory nomenclature in bovine medicine is dressed in full Holstein uniform. His entire body is cloaked in white cloth, with black patches sewed on and a three-dim
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Dream, swan, dream of your woman, whenever you get hold of her. Problem after problem lets up under the grip you have. And conquest without plan is what you’ve added to the world. So, share your songs under wild silk, won’t you? I remember there was hel
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Running into the fire, the smoke and the chaos;
selfless first responders, innocent bystanders,
and dedicated runners
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The Bond Trader begins his morning with coffee and a hit of LSD.
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The woman returns from the store with an armload of books. She reads them quickly, one by one, over the course of the next few weeks. But when she opens the last one, the woman frowns in surprise.
All the pages in the book are blank.
Every single one.
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The following is a true story, or rather it is a true experience from the story of my life. Some say that just because something happens doesn’t really make it “true”.
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“Are you comparing the communists with Hitler?”
“Are you telling me there is no comparison?"
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In a mad tipsy leap you came up short and hard on the chipped stone counter Bruised and blue below the seams against the inside of your thigh. Your grand jeté a little too low, left you on the black floorboards Wincing in…
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The book mind, just like its namesake the book, is capable of movement only after its assembly: otherwise, it boasts no moving parts.
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"Not a fan?" Beth asks, feeling a sliver of happiness move through her. He furrows his brow. "Then what brings you here?"
"I'm here to pick up girls," Steve says simply. "Want to hit the buffet table? Want to run away to Mexico?"
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A Being of Aether, who having appeared to me one morning, instructed me in the geometry of thorns. She seemed to be semi-infinite as her often melodious speaking voice was unimaginable in one direction and limited in another.
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THE BOOK YOU'LL NEVER READ CONTENTS This Is Not A Test In The Event Of A Nuclear Attack, This Message Will Be Followed By A Message From Your Local Civilian Defense Authority Fuck, The Radio Doesn't Work Trouble Shooting Radios The Top 40…
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I grew up in a little red house filled with books. Both of my parents love to read, and the proof piled up in every room. Current books in the bedroom. Books from the last ten to twenty years in the living room and kitchen. Old books from their childhood and college days on…
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rows and sections of casually arranged selectionswell crafted but haphazardpretty objets d'art randomly placed as cluesto significant life moments and revealing preferencesmy mother was an interior designershe would have clucked her tongueher head cocked to the sideas she…
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my crotch-heavy press of 'Yes.'
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When I was eighteenI worked at a convenient storeAnd the owner was from PakistanAnd he dressed well and Smelled of cologneAnd owned two storesAnd was always going back and forthBetween the two of themHe had to make sure we were doingOur jobsAnd whenever some kid…
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The one thing my father told me that I want to believe is true . . .
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That bottle just sits there in the closet, next to the hats and a box full of old gloves. Years it’s been there. Try as we might, we never open it. We just don’t have a damn thing to celebrate. Who was it brought that bottle into our lives and went and ruined …
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I. Two cancer scares since June, one came up nothing the other nothing much. (My breasts are dense: I know all about moles— little bastards don't have to get sun to go nuts.) My manuscript travels ether to…
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These things were indeed the wealth of our respective nations.
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It is easy to look out on the Bowery and say, "There are the bums." Encountering one, however, even one who asks to "bum a quarter" or tells you he's "on the bum" the word "bum" slips away in one's mind...
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It was just after lunch when they found the box.
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Many men ran about, some retreating fully and others digging in along side of me. Some of them without a shirt or helmet, but all with blood shot eyes. My brothers and I dug in hard and set our sights on our enemies.
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My legs hung over the bed as I leaned over the food tray. Under my left arm was Adele, my toy cat. I wondered if the staff told the boy of my ritual of always feeding Adele first before I gave the spoon to myself.
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“The Boy from Thuringia” is part of a series of stories collectively called The History of Adoption. In it, a middle-aged man sets out rather obsessively to write a comprehensive history of the adopted child. In his attempts to finally begin this im
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I don't remember much before my brother moved out, but one thing that stands out in my mind was the bathroom we shared. He'd pull a stool up to…
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