My fingers are shining in the underwater afterlife of memory searching for the nipple-sized mollusks searching for the solid nature of things left over from having lived a life at all That new rain smell, specifically I remember that,

We lay in what we have made, minute fleshy bullets in the target we have made.

Only ever been twelve men on the moon. And one cheese.

There’s a hole in my sock, just large enough that my big toe keeps slipping out.

You are walking through a canyon made of shelving units lined with colorful masterpieces of three-dimensional minimalist design

She was about 35 or so and noticeably pregnant. She was near hysteria when she knocked on our apartment door, right across the street in L.A. from a convent. But she took one last desperate wild look at me, standing at the door. I saw the animal in her ey

She looks exactly like my sister, though I do not have a sister.

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…

He didn't hide it. He told her he was a mortician when he called. He had responded to her ad in the Lonely Hearts section of the newspaper.

I’m in high leather boots; I’m talking many dead cows here and I respect that

I'll never be a Republican Megadonor or a Doomed Aviatrix. But I'm okay with that.

“You know who Neil Peart looks like?” Gram said, ignoring Aaron's outburst.

...the loving and very painful hurt of our daily sustenance

If love could only by heat be bound

San Bruno avenue, six shops in eight blocks. Those Vietnamese ladies thrive on the pedicure trade.