2059 14 13
|
. . . clinging to life in a shroud of winter air. It veered up five flights to a sweltering summer night on the roof . . .
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205900
|
At the time I first went to work for Mr. Byron my family was in a sorrowful state. My dad, much as I can recall, was one of those roving kinds, called himself a carpenter or contractor, depending on the kind of job he was aspiring to, and was subject to f
|
205953
|
The summer everyone read Faulkner, I read Hemingway. Out of spite.
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20592821
|
My only brother. Frantic flesh clings to bone.
|
205931
|
Mr. Lowell knelt down and put his face in his hands, his knees quickly covered in blood. Sobs.
|
205964
|
Where truth is revealed
To all, transparency
In policy, including
The REAL reasons
We are at war.
|
2059215
|
You got a lot of people, out there
|
205810
|
There was a man crying, walking his dog
and a woman drove by
on a flat tire
They brought coffee to the tables
in large glasses on white saucers
There’d be long silver spoons
with which to stir in strong
|
205831
|
Dizzy but still alive
Inside this conversation
I ask if you have a sister
And if she'll know me
If I'm with you.
|
2058107
|
The first husband was young and lovely. He had a little nose and long fingers he used for things like planting begonias in my clay pot. I did not do flowers. So that was nice.
|
205810
|
I've been invited to speak at Emerson College in Boston—it will be the summer of 2012, and I'll be speaking on running an online literary magazine; in this case, my own, Anderbo.com.
|
20582322
|
The painting was on loan from a gallery in Chicago. We stood there connecting the dots.
|
205893
|
She wrapped her legs around him. His hand barely held the rope and later he could not have said if it happened above or below the water’s surface.
|
205800
|
It’s confusing enough to grow up in a place like America, a country without definitive culture, except for ranch dressing and reality TV, but it’s even worse to grow up half one thing, half another, christened a hyphenation of names without connection to
|
20581816
|
We die in order to get some rest
|
20581911
|
|
20582319
|
Alice writes three different versions of the letter. The last one is the most tempered, the most like her, but still it is such an unlike-her thing to do. The couple who lives above her has been disrupting her sleep nearly every night for the past three weeks. The woman's…
|
2057159
|
The violin hung on the wall after that, a witness.
|
2057266
|
She was flying back in the morning, returning to a long-distance boyfriend I believed she had cheated on while she was here but didn’t ask about because I thought it would have been too obvious and somehow ungentlemanly.
|
205600
|
An armpit fart is a simulated sound of flatulence produced by creating a pocket of air between the armpit of a partially raised arm and the hand, then swiftly closing this pocket by bringing the arm close to the torso.
|
205697
|
A man lives with a woman he loves enough to live with, but not enough to marry and not enough for kids. He knows he could love others enough to marry, enough for kids, but he's not the kind of man to find those women when he's with this woman.Sometimes “love”…
|
205600
|
Dear Bess —
I go to the First Assembly of God's church. (a Praising Spirit-Filled Fellowship.) It is in Maui. Dr. James Morocco, Senior Pastor. He has been pastoring the church for over twenty years.
My, what a big change I am finding in my new l
|
205656
|
This violin of oneself, this rough strum of I, arc of wing over thick rib. This masturbatory chirping like the meat of God clenched in your teeth, an apostrophe giving aloneness possession over the inarticulate, a bridge between chords.
|
205632
|
You call the shit in this paper news? ‘Dog Accidentally Shoots Man With His Own Gun, Swedish Man Bursts Into Flames on Train Platform, The Truth About Elvis's Hidden Extraterrestrial Daughter.' Seriously? Enough about Elvis already.
|
205611
|
My best friend and roommate Eliza woke up one morning with the sudden conviction that she had to become very fat, as soon as possible.
|
20551613
|
Write a poem in which your father is a dog and you are his leash.
|
20552018
|
or the voice that wants/
to be inscribed/
forgets the sounds
|
20542117
|
For my Dad
Happy Father's Day!
|
205400
|
No news spreads faster than news of a death. Word of the death of a child can be heard simultaneously in a thousand places. . . the word spread by telephone, in back yards from clothesline to clothesline, with whispers in grocery stores, in the looks on faces stunned into…
|
205400
|
My novel-in-stories, NAN, is now available as an ebook for $6.99. Thanks to everyone who read the first 7 published stories here on Fictionaut.
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