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Every day she loves me a little less, and justifies it by saying that there is less of me to love.
At some crucial, overlooked space in our life together, I used up my compassion and started to spend hers.
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The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—
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It's the way an earnest five-year-old boy pronounces every single letter as he whispers. Something about octopuses, something else about peas.
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75020
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Their son doesn’t eat anything. They can’t see how he keeps growing.
He’s like an air plant, living on air alone, all the while knowing
they themselves will never live on air alone again.
They sewed their wild oats. They lived their universal life
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They were really big, a lot larger and taller and stronger than he was. Sometimes they were holding him, all of him, high up in the air. Sometimes they would have him crawl in front of them. Often they put him into some form of holding cell.
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Harry's hair had been in the process of falling out for years. He had tried every over-the-counter remedy and prescription available with no success. Over the years, his receding hairline had become a widow's peak, then male…
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We’re safe as houses/
and unmoved. We grow/
accustomed to the sound
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“How scared?” Mikey said, not wanting to find out, and already looking pretty nervous.
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* — Eligibility conditions apply, no purchase necessary.
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Can you remember now? How we could each disappear completely, connected despite fault lines. . . .
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I don't know what my mother is thinking. She's either cart wheeling into crazy land or turning into a ghoul.
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A plague of dykes mattered not. This spider-girl had driven the world of thought from Borden’s mind.
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When the writer expressed with subtle alacrity that he adored the painter, she was flattered and didn't raise objection. The writer-in his aloof manner, with experienced caution-pointedly wrote a poem directly for his muse. She never spoke of it, and hi
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I'm a madman. People call me other stuff, but I'm a madman. My name is Roberto Nolasco Bahag-hari. Yeah, I know. It's kinda funny for a name. Friends sometimes call me RNB though I hate that freakin' music. Sometimes people…
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Then you came home from your travels and stole her, your new queen, though she was ready. And raped my heart as you entered the new passage to heaven. And I cried out your name on the river, and swam in the warm waters behind you, naming your new name a
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When I ate with my girls, Bliss and Victoria, I would lift my head up and look at us eating until I could imagine him chiding me. “Our daughters are looking more and more like you each day,” he’d say. “Fat!” I didn’t feel like eating when I thought abo
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Off of the northeastern coastline there was a series of islands that won bread and butter through fishing. We walked off the ferry and through various docks while noticing vessels come in slowly boasting sides protected by worn plastic fenders on ropes affixed to…
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I look back at Bobby, his wide blue eyes staring at me. A dark shadow on his round baby face also tells me that he isn't entirely convinced if the thing is dead in the first place. Because even the folks buried in the town's only cemetery have a way of co
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Flags engulfed in beautiful nighttime alcohol flames
that will end all nightmares of country of origin.
The release of souls from the captivity of flames
like see-through doves in the clear light
at the backside of the see-through universe.
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From my place, down here amongst the earth, we have many names for you.
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196220
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Whenever I hear Adam Sandler's song, “My Piece of Shit Car”, it brings back memories. Notice I don't say fond memories. It brings me back just like the really bad backwash regurgitation flavor…
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250821
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It was twilight, and the sky was getting darker even as the lights of civilization were becoming more noticeable in the gloom. The daytime city, with its grit and dust and texture, was disappearing. Soon there would only be electric light and neon and the
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Each evening the man allowed himself an hour of fresh air. He and Prickles would situate themselves on the tiny balcony overlooking the same street, a blanket bundled around them both for warmth. These were the times he liked to talk to Prickles the most
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The other night while we stood in the kitchen locked in each other's stone silence, he finally said, “You're waiting for something to get you to the other side of grief. But there's no such thing.”
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Ted rose and began searching cushions of the bad furniture in his loft (Monte's loft, if you thought in terms of leases and rent and who had his shit together). Three shineless quarters in the yellow vinyl chair, a dime in the heater, nineteen cents in t
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Random Access
Hundred Dollar Bill
Burning Question
The Black Truffles
Open John
Queasy Sister
Tortoise and the Hair
Duck Tail and the Wrap
Stiff Resistance
Knee Jerk Reaction
Tough Cookie
Bar Code and the Illusion
Erosion
Eroti
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Did Isaac see, his mirror in the fronds Of apple-orbs that let their ripeness stay No more than supplication of the wands The sweet tornados in one drizzle's wings betray? The tree that greets them is not ruled by iron bands Whose light's lines were…
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the mountains did change/became looming purplish waves/their spray washes us/we rinse slow 'neath lifted waves/that must be at least this tall.
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On the first day of autumn, in the rear courtyard of the Léger estate, Yvette Mongrain was scrubbing down the glass tables and wrought iron chairs that had been trucked in from Paris the morning before and arranged across the flagstones.
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