we can’t hear the hum/ and the heat is imperceptible.

When Carol complained about a pain in her back, Frank didn't think much about it. Her back—especially her shoulders—hurt most of the time he'd known her, almost fifteen years, from sitting in front of a computer all day. It was an old story. “But …

Things had started to fall apart. And not only things — things that were meant to keep other things together. Three zippers in two months had fallen apart. I needed to connect.

My first and so far only visit to my homeland of Prague was first described to me by a tourist guidebook, which laid out many of the fundamentals one must follow while travelling there. It was pointed out, for instance, that we would be “unlikely to encou

I know what he meant. I've been in the 3 A.M. cream cheese. I've known the hole in the bagel.

i built a house in the trees before i lived in the sky

I think I’m the best Marilyn Monroe there ever was.

The first thing I realized I was hearing when I woke up from the land of nowhere was the brittle sounds of little frozen rods of rain crashing into the sliding glass porch doors relentlessly and cracking into tiny shards of split piles in…

I’ve never liked birds. There’s something smug about the way they look at us, we prisoners of gravity, something self-congratulatory in their songs. Maybe I’m just projecting my own feelings about being stuck on the ground, attributing attitudes t

____________________________________I get an internet connection and send this poem out in haste: Drugs, New Orleans…

Cockroaches may be falling through the holes in the floorboards of heaven, but we will not be disturbed. We are agents, free and clear, even if a little bit mean. I want to quit worrying about money, but the angels upstairs won’t let me. The

Mon wakes up surrounded by trees. The light is grey, the trunks black.How long have I slept? he wonders.He doesn't know which way to walk. In every direction, the same prospect of trees. He looks up at a blank sky. No sign even of the sun.***He starts walking. Slowly,…

The summer everyone read Faulkner, I read Hemingway. Out of spite.

Alone in Eugene, / I sought out / the solace of olives

Somebody left CNN on all night long until the news cycle flipped, crashed and burned in its own ruins