1920 12 4
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It rises rigid and plumb from its heavy base, the severity of line yielding to grace only at the throat where it crests into a subtly constrictive pinch.
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1920 2 0
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The morning sun rose up over the flat prairie, and the powdery snow crunched as you walked on it, and the air was so crisp it hurt as you took a breath. That is good, I thought. That is how you knew you were alive, and I was truly very alive, and there was not much to do so…
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1920 9 7
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leaves of a season/float into a brook among/bubbles fit to burst.
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1919 1 0
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This is about a mescaline trip that went wrong. It happened back in the '60s and I know, the '60s have been done quite to death and nobody ever gets the trip right but--you'll like this one. Joey and…
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1919 2 2
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I got to Victoria station at quarter to eleven on a Friday with nothing but a small leather bag and the vague idea of getting out of London.
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1919 10 1
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I told you that I have homicidal urges that alternate with ones of the suicidal kind. You flicked an imaginary speck of dust from your fat, fleshy forefinger with your ultra-flexible, wimpy thumb.
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1919 0 0
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7
We sat in Darrell's truck in the deserted silent world of the down-trodden industrial area of West Berkeley, where no one in his right mind went at five in the morning. "Put the gun away, Darrell," I said. "I mean it."
"I can't help but keep
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1919 13 10
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He'd tend the door himself in high lace up boots, orange rhinestone hot pants, a tight black t-shirt, and black boa with orange swirl.
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1919 10 5
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Half way through our cigarettes she told me her name was Charlotte.
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1918 13 7
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Here’s how you do it. First you get a ladder, a long one.
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1918 5 1
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Funny, you can drink wine and eat stale crackers, but you cannot suck a simple lollipop? Where does it say that in the bible? Nowhere, that’s where.
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1918 9 6
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The thunder rolled like an old Bob Dylan tour...
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1918 12 9
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What happened later that evening is unclear. When Mickey got back to his quarters, he was in good spirits. Buoyant even.
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1918 8 6
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you hear the knell of kindness
long before its cathedral voices -- a recessional --
barters better times.
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1918 8 3
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I walked on hot coals. She got ahead of me. (228 words)
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1918 19 10
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A constellation appears in the shape of Van Gogh’s missing ear.
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1918 12 7
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wrenched its lower back trying so hard to lift too many stacked November clouds off the newly shaved prickly heads of the slowly freezing trees,like ring weights,and had to spend the last of its hours setting in a small square box in…
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1918 18 12
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She had loved sleeping in Todd’s arms at night, hearing the soft tinkle of crystal above her when cool drafts moved through the house, his hand wandering over the swell of her belly.
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1918 9 2
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‘Look, look, Quark. Look here. Warthearm. A shiny warthearm.’ Maz was on his elbows and knees, his fat ass sticking out in their air like two cannon-balls ready to be shot off. He was peering at a long, shapeless earthworm, its skin translucent and i
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1918 5 3
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He never bothered converting the tip money he pocketed at the Imperial Street 24 hour car wash as his world was replete with 25 cent transactions, making quarters the perfect coin for his realm.
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1918 19 11
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Emma pushes through the door of the corner market, aiming briskly for her car, keys in one hand, grocery bag in the other, shoulder bag slung. Best not to make eye contact with the loitering boozers and bikers from the bar next door. Double take. Can't…
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1917 9 7
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Dark, green grass covered the pasture like millions of tiny fingers swaying in the heat.
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1917 6 2
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She was in love with a boy whose eyes were so brown that she sat stopped in the restaurant at the anniversary dinner with the spoon in her slow chocolate fondant. Out of the corner of her eye, around the back of her head, under the table knees knocking
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1917 5 0
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About 10 years ago is when it started. I was 14, sitting at Pop's knee, listening to his stories, and Mom came in crying. She could hardly get words out.
I think that day was the last time I felt the sun.
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1917 8 3
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I was making good bread as a New York studio musician and jingle writer, anonymous back-room jobs.
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1917 1 1
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The tiles begin inching toward him as soon as he moves. You've seen filings on glass. He's the magnet on the underside.
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1917 0 0
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1917 17 3
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My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers.
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1917 12 8
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1917 1 1
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Before the bills, before the fighting, before the need to blame something, there was a moment blown empty in the span of one doctor’s breath, a moment where bar nights and weekend benders had no meaning, a moment where the future was as blank as the bac
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