1756 20 6
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She lifts her head, nose heavenward. There’s a wet spot on my dress from our lovemaking, its aroma as heady as Claudine’s bouillabaisse. I hope she smells it.
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17561510
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When we would leave her place I never had a firm idea where I was taking her except I knew - and she knew - that eventually we'd end up back at my place. We did this a lot when her husband, Mack, was out of town. Every couple of weeks his job took him to…
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17561814
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We are infused with fear and dread/
of the world we won’t engage/
except through flat screens and remotes,
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1756136
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4. Hers blocking driveway, his diagonal in grass
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17562112
|
It is a well-known fact that my wife sleeps around. There. I said it and now everyone knows that I too know about my wife. Let me just tell you this one thing; she has her reasons. You ask me how I know that she has her reasons, but who would know better than…
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175621
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The Bridge Barstow had not wanted to listen to Griff. Griff was not making the right decisions, or he thought Griff was not making the right decisions. Thought he was walking a…
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175631
|
It’s me walking in on you shooting up in the diner’s cesspool of a
shitter, and you trying to conceal the evidence while you’re telling
me it’s straight up your first time.
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175511
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[CAUTION: IF YOU ARE UNDULY "FIXATED" ON GOD, AMERICA, MOM, APPLE PIE, AND/OR BASEBALL ... YOU MAY WANT TO AVERT YOUR EYES!]
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175510
|
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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175560
|
Tonight, Bukowski and I drink together.
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1755108
|
"What mouths could not say, hands did."
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1755148
|
She walks ahead, dropping matches as she goes. Grassland is consumed by flames and when I arrive all is wasted.
|
175501
|
My heart and mind, eyes, hands and lips — Yours.
|
175561
|
Do you think we die when we age?Or when a car runs over our hearts?We die slowly, minute by minute, every secondBy the time you read this, you've died a little
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175583
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45s I’ve kept wrapped in newspaper in the attic. These are all mine. Some doubling up in sleeves. Some pushing tears in the seams.
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1755149
|
I never thought I’d miss the sound of church bells, reminding me of my sudden apostasy,
faintly ringing over the rumpus where even the birds can’t get a word in edgeways.
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175512
|
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175443
|
There is nothing so obscure it is not enhanced by talking, nothing so dull it cannot be coaxed into brilliance, nothing so deep it cannot be dug from an abyss and brought to the surface in paroxysms of red.
|
175431
|
I don’t know what happened. One day I was in her room, groping the various drawers for hidden condoms, glimpses of women’s undergarments and I found a spectacular pair of blue lace panties
|
17541111
|
This is the place I could find my breath. I didn'tSay I understood it. I only wanted to hold someone andMeant to. I don't care about the rules for caring.This place where I could speak was incredibly far from Where I'd once met you. The place where I could…
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17541410
|
are my only real friends. They don't seem to mind my shuffling down the dirty sidewalks without acknowledging their mere scraggly presences like friendly tombstones. They are growing their hair out again. I've noticed that much. We've got a…
|
175498
|
The giant hurled threats and insults. He brandished a knife that was a foot long.
|
175440
|
Lifting a pear wedge to my lips, I hesitate and dip it into my bourbon instead. I notice a tiny sphere of liquid, suspended, glistening with the flame of the candle. The sweet, subtle scent tantalizes my senses. Careless, sticky fingers bring movement.…
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1754106
|
I saw/
star shine in/
my silver pail
|
175433
|
My love for him like wax wings/
so long they stretched eternal—
beating in the sky, grazing peaks,
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175400
|
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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175444
|
I am the Poet Laureate of my bedroom
I am the Poet Laureate of 6065 Chabot Road, Jokeland
I am the Poet Laureate of the Loser Café
I have wind in my shoes if not my hair
I am the Poet Laureate of Karmic Impulses
Of tabloids and gossip
I am
|
175454
|
While space and time opened up for us, the ground accelerated its attempts to devour the astronaut. Grasses grew up around his edges. Seeds propagated in the folds of his suit, tendrils found their way into the mysterious holes for the missing hoses that
|
17541912
|
A screaming comes across the brain
|
175420
|
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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