I'm not. I am.

Amyra pressed her hands on the brick wall and rubbed it. She thought about hanging something on there, but she did not have the tools to make a hole. In fact, the thought of having a hole in the wall would be enough.

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

Jasmine invited herself over and plopped herself on my futon. "Let's fuck," she said, bluntly. "I want to."

I keep encouraging him to write stories not poems, but I think he enjoys writing things that don’t fit together. Things that stumble.

Didn't he have like a frog No lips so speak of, and the weathered lizard Look of the frequently face-lifted?

I was sitting on the steps in the entryway to our apartment building taking off my running shoes when I spotted a paperclip on the floor. I assumed it had fallen from the mail that my wife had just taken from our mailbox. Once my shoes were removed, I went down to pick…

“If 'neighbor' applies to women who covet—'deliriously desire'—husbands from Angers, then one day he'll be your husband's neighbor," I say.

He got up to the pulpit and said that he thought he might have made a mistake. I will never forget the desperate look on his face. He recalled being at his Ivy League school and wondering just what he was interested in upon his graduation and what would b

I I I I

So she started sneaking into people’s houses in the middle of the night. She’d just sit in the kitchen for an hour or so, and just feel the peace. Never took anything or got into anything. Just sat there silently.

He was ready for the rub. Tense. She could always tell. The legs, the shuffles. He had to be frantic before he would come to her, his own wife. Vanity, fright. She could read him like a book open on the table, turn his pages the way a fish flakes. "It's comfort night,…

No one could understand. No one wanted to understand. They were all gripped with horror, fear flowing through every nerve in their body. Could it be a serial killer? Could it be an animal ? Could it be an accident? Or was this a prank gone bad ?

Lothario Jones rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, trying to catch his breath. He was in a tight spot. The Journeymen were still hot on his trail. His Danger Pistol was out of radium pellets, and his once-full Bag of Tricks was now empty ...

Just thinking aloud, really. And by aloud, I mean typing for someone to read haha.