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There is a small resort village on the northwest Pacific shoreline of Costa Rica, within the province of Guanacaste, near a town called Tamarindo. It is arguably the most beautiful of the Esmeralda beaches. Below Playa Hermosa, even further down than Playa Flamingo,…
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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…
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I stared deep into the sepias...
And you touched my soul anew.
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We were at Fox River and I was in the dark water, swimming naked beside Rick DeMille, with my light skin glowing as we swam up behind you and Sharon in your dad’s ski boat sitting silent in the water.
And I could hear her whimpering, “Oh, Jesus!” when
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In the cafeteria we have the cheese fries. Sara's favorite. She eats with two fingers, pinching like a crane. Cheese drips and she licks the fingers. She licks the plate. She goes for it. Big Lulu, the cook, calls from the back. “That's what I like to…
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he dreams of limp victims stepping out of the waves/ water draining from skin and hair
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Blacked-out out on junk, I bet money on a sport I hated just last year.
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The only thoughts that come are old ones that are so needy they keep circling through for attention
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This was looking down from what we know as The Grassy Knoll.
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A parody of John Ashbery I have been preconditioned likewise by the ligatures of the roof. It has bypassed even the lightning. When I started this essay I (poetics equalling dissemination, like a toilet plug) admired, and I in the book produced…
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The heart of those stars is a dab of yellow light. The darkness of the blue night appearing so deep because of the downward strokes of the actual sky interspersed with a violet that is almost black above the truly black silhouettes of the city buildings
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I was sent here to perform the autopsy
on the norm, the status quo, the bourgeois.
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Dark morning sleet whitecrusts the world
once more, shrouds remains
of January thaw:
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What I did I wouldn't call criminal, just stupid. Even my judge, after so many court appointments, didn't understand what had happened. And there's a reason I got out on illegal sentencing but, either way, I paid the better part of a year for it all. I don't want to tell…
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white-gray mounds persist
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His mother named him Far because she had high hopes for him
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When it was sticky cool at night, he'd pull her hair up off her neck and spin it like a pinwheel. “You could be anything," he would say. “You could be a preschool teacher.” She waited for him to add, “For dragons! For wallabees! For…
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We draw a treasure map in the sandwait for the waves to wash it awayI ask you not to leave me stranded hereIf I'm bound for hell, I don't want to be left behindThe sun breaks through the edge of infinityspills over the line, soaking the sky…
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This is why I’ve decided to assign myself a position in life similar to that of Stuart Sutcliffe with the Beatles.
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When i close my eyesI see the faces of the deadI hear their voices The things they said, their laughter The ones i thought would live forever!! Something got them though: the ones who lived fastIt was a drug, some bullets, a disease I thought they would live forever!!Those…
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"Damn! All I've got is a hundred dollar bill."
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If you work in a library, you work with book carts, so naturally you give them nicknames. You could call your faithful book cart Bumpy, Squeaky, Rusty or Tipsy. But surely you can do better than that! Here's…
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I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti
And yet I still survive
Because I walked across the line
Separating me from the rest of mankind
You can see me out here
I’m in so much pain
All that’s written on my face
I think it’s pretty plain
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It was more than just taste/
more than a point of view/
and oil and pigment/
that painted a store front church/
a box with a cross in a vacant lot/
that welcomed desperation, faith/
and imagination.
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I don't mind being dead. It's ok. Really. I've discovered a whole new way of being based on non-being. What else can you do? I like being invisible. I like groaning and rattling chains. I used to be a writer. Still am. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that…
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The whole scene smells like paranoia.
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J., W., and W.’s girlfriend were exploring the nature and mores of homosexual conduct by discussing whether W. would be willing to suck J.’s cock.
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Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.
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Under the Dempster El and off in an alley, the girl taps the vein. The buildings moan. Thirty below wind chill, and the girl's jacket is cast aside. Her pupils dilate. “My mother, my mother, on this night, my mother, she died,” she says. …
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These are not the caffeinated men of barbaric lore.
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