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Salt

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I imagined the crystals in my mouth. Salt flowers blooming on my tongue.

The poet. Pt. 3

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I think I remember now why people write poetry.

Motley Crew

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Paul had come to Hawaii, like many young haoles from the mainland, to party. Partying proved to be lucrative for him. By early October 1982 he had done well for himself in Hawaii, living in a country house with sprawling lawns that held back the jungle foliage…

Conjugal Love

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Either they got married in the church dressed in their mothers’ bridal gowns, gaudy and ancient dresses with off-white lace faded from years of hanging in the attic, or they snuck down to city hall...

Grief Has No Welcome Garment

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Twice burned, it buries its graves.

The Letter

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I knew nothing about the letter at first. When I came in that morning and smiled and said good morning, it was a genuine smile and a heartfelt good morning. But the letter, which had arrived the previous afternoon, was already doing its corrosive work of

A Poet in a Coffeeshop in the Motherfucking Nineties

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Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…

The Ardennes: Two Vignettes

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In the Ardennes for the the first time...

The Paranoia Experiment

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I know this is going to sound crazy, possibly because it is crazy, but still, please hear me out. I'm a relatively sane person. Sane as any of you, or I was. Just, what I'm saying is that anything that happened to me could happen to you, and you might do the same things I…

Shredded

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"...you are a freak of nature..."

First Blood

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...dogs snapping at the brush as it spins this way, that way, eluding the slavering jaws by a hairs breadth. The fox twists and rolls, tries every trick, every last desperate one.

GONE

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The box thuds at your feet: mug, plant, wedding photo, the 25-year pen.

Hopper

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"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."

The Blue Pear

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The pear is a bruise. Feels like desperation in the light, it looks soft and blue. She wants to touch it and doesn’t want to. How the blood gathers under the blue and the body grows tender. Swells. Slowly.

The serious writer and her bush

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The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.

'So I fucked Beavis ... so WHAT??'

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[CAUTION: "DISINTEGRATION OF THE FUNCTIONING PSYCHE," IS, APPARENTLY, A "DEEPLY PERSONAL" EXPERIENCE!"]

Out of the Question

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"Then why? Why?" she choked. "Why are you so... so mean to me?"

A Safe Distance

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Poems, and Zebras

Too Fast to be Fat

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As it turns out, hypertravel is surprisingly slimming.

An Irrational Poem

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Hollywood is the land of the slow no.

The Fifth Snatch

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...oh shit...

Happy Columbus Day

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Oh to be young and vigorous.

Death Is No Big Deal.

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The suite of dark rooms/ extends forever./ It’s no big deal.

Failed Restaurants

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Their specialty is the roasted Australian hare, long ears intact, arranged on a bed of sassafras.

The Tale of Pregnant Tinkerbelle

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Everyone was shocked when they heard Tinkerbelle was six days gone and had got so heavy she couldn't fly. Who could have done it, everyone asked, but Tinkerbelle wasn't telling. So no one knew. That isn't true. I knew, and in this Declaration I swear I will tell…

The Red Slit

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Kitchen. sandwich. wife. daughter.

Air On The G String

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If love could only by heat be bound

You deserve to be choked around your lying throat and this how it happens, slowly.

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Writing as a form of imaginative hatred

The Office

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But I still don't have my underwear in the right place.

Prince Charming

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They could have heard a pin drop in the car for the rest of the ride to her house, where she looked at him one last time and found nothing admirable, nothing memorable about him.