She was now sitting in her bathtub. The warmth of the water made her pale, rich vanilla skin flushed with the fullness of circulation as her pores continued to allow the passage of her toxins from her system.

Viewed correctly, nature is an inexhaustible storehouse of clichés. A successful landscape is their pleasing rearrangement.

No one writes epics anymore. Why? Perhaps it's because we no longer share mythologies. Once there was a shepherd, and now there is a Google bus loaded with pricks. Yes, you say, but they are good at math. Each and every one of them. And this is true. I envy them…

The weatherman can't predict accumulation. He can only tell you it will be cold. Expect ice, wind, snow, expect delays. Your daughters play outside, dancing around the Evergreen, its branches bearing the weight of snow, its branches

I'm completely naked in an unheated basement, about 40 first year university students, most of them female, are staring at my ridiculous waif-like body.

"Honey," I called out to my wife. "Why do we have Spam in the closet?" "You mean unsolicited bulk messages sent electronically?" "No--the canned, precooked meat product made by the Hormel Corporation."

He leans in close then, close enough that when he speaks, his words tiptoe out and tuck me in.

I paused in case she said more. Then, “He’s very faint but he wants to talk.” She leaned forward, chin almost resting on the grey-haired woman in front of her. “Tell him to shout.”

One must be drenched in words.

He said stuff like ‘Crikey that's a knife',” she said, “it was bad, really really bad.”

Renee said, "I have actually slept with a number of Captains of Industry and would rate them, overall, deficient in skills."

There is a feeling in my hands, fingers, a restive, potential energy, drawing inward, reaching

But no matter how we died, we all end up here, in the Meadowlark Children's Cemetery.

as i sink down into the shadows crawling like a worm past cold bricks centuries old in my blood

His note said: “I’m sick of low attendance.”