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What's missing from their bodies is nothing compared to what's missing in their heads. One man in particular, now almost 80. Wakes to the smell of napalm, cigarette smoke, gasoline. Is he still feverish? Will the fungus rot his foot? But he remembers he
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Let's say maybe you're in a place your mind has never left, and let's say maybe it's Mississippi, and let's say maybe it's summer with kudzu throbbing green all around you, and let's say maybe she's a Sagittarius girl, standing in that driveway with her young breasts…
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neon carrots and atomic tangerines
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The human/
is less dependable than these pinpricks//
and the lunar cycle.
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Dear Fictionaut Family,Some of you may recognize my name and remember reading my work, some of you may have joined more recently and be wondering what the hell I'm doing addressing you directly. I began writing on Fictionaut in 2010, during four years as I was fragmenting…
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The bathroom faucet is leaking again. Do they make diapers for faucets?
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Men aren't good at these kinds of things, my mother tells me. She states it as if it is a scientific fact.
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He had her pinned to the back seat, expressing his love. Do you love me? she whispered in his ear. Do you, do you, Jimmy Dale, do you love me? His only response…
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Remember the equatorial heat, the flies,/
the lurking hum and scream of jungle,/
the squalor? Remember the functionary.
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His hands go up and down on me. You love me don't you he says. I don't know I say.
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The squad comes upon two of the long-snouted dogs gnawing at the bloated carcass of a third.
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“The price of everything's gone up,” I say. “But I don't have to buy you chocolate if it's costing too much.” She says nothing and bends her head again, gnarled hands slowly breaking a family-sized chocolate block into pieces.
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Ah, how sweet is forbidden fruit, how delicious undiscovered sin!
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Fortunately, when the bird hits the sliding glass doors in our den, I know what to do.
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Q: This name in Basque means “owns a new house.” A: What is “Xavier”?
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Attached in the center were the petals of a small flower pressed in wax paper. Uncreased, she read it out loud
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—It’s difficult to say, he said. I have mood swings. Women don’t like that. They become upset.
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My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood…
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The creatures were thief-walking...
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I travel over your body with small feet,
reach your heart.
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With the morning comes the repetition...
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We have no more leaders, only rulers who live in another country. I don't ask why my cousin's hand is bandaged, what he's been burning, what's tarped in his truck.
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Well, I finally checked myself into this what you call a “ Facebook Rehab Clinic” up here just about 40 miles outside of Kalispell, Montana in a little town called Gulag and, as I'm sure you can guess, there's no posting or commenting or liking anything anymore…
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the world slips under the waves
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I miss Mother gentling the small of my back. She has forgotten me. Her little girl. Whose thumb she fussed over when a rose thorn scratched it and blood spilled like a secret. Whose smile she said was her morning sunshine, whose hug was incense. I yearn for her lips…
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That year, if you asked Al, was truly the best of times, the worst of times.
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Her mother dressed her like a little girl would dress a doll.
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