When my feet touched the ground on the tarmac at Bagram I cannot begin to describe the feeling I had. It was as if God had spoken to me directly, whispering in the cold mountain air: “Son of Marjan, I welcome you.” The feeling took hold and overcame m

. . . catching her breath somewhere between ecstasy and surprise. . .

From across the crowded bar, past the be-suited lobbyists and in between the plates of fried calamari and glasses of cabernet being hustled to and fro by the Salvadoran waiters, Travis could see that John had changed. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. A little grey…

I like how you completely disappeared inside a undetermined and yet planned point of pretty good view, like a rabbit with a gold chained pocket watch, like a stunned, frozen bird with a still burning bullet in its tinyfeathered brain. You could…

"...just like you rehearsed..."

Lately he's been wanting to write about love...

On the day they were born, the old mother eagle named her chicks Faith, Hope, and Charity.

Such behavior will result in no disciplinary action only: 1) if all blinds are drawn; 2) all doors are locked; and 3) loud groaning is masked by appropriate use of the volume control on the classroom’s closed-circuit TV set.

She’s there, in a tin, loosely wound beneath sepia tissue paper, a braid to worry in your fingers.

He hung up and I sang some whiney lyric about wanting him back. You know the songs that say the same shit: I’m an idiot. Love me anyway. I’m Velcro with nothing to stick to and you’re a nappy surface that gives me a reason to exist.

These days I wear a flag pin.

It's the little things that trip us up: a small hole in a level field, an innocuous root in a well-trod path, a disinclined sidewalk...

Joaquin Phoenix has inspired me to quit writing and purse my true lifelong passion.

I wrangle word juice from the Oxford American, sighing at photographs of blues musicians with solemn lakes for eyes.

Having read the poetry of Dennison I hereby give up writing.