Smoking is like hooking up with an ex-girlfriend: you know she's bad for you and that it won't work out, but it feels so familiar and comfortable and so easy to slide back into.

It turns out I know a thing or two about momentum. I know, I know. Like the crescendo of your bicycle wheels. Like the force the florist put on the stems the day Linda died. The way my fingers spin between planetary mass. This is how I know I’m not real

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

Not a fuss, not a stink, The eulogy, deep, will make one think, Grandmother, sat in back, will wink

As a boy I fished under the Tappan Zee bridge which spans the Hudson River above New York City.

And out on that lake that day you yelled “desperation please!” And I heard “desperate pleas?” I wondered about first impressions.

I was thinking everything was OK, until one day I woke up and realized that I was living on an entirely different planet, and you seemed like a complete stranger to me. I was feeling so ashamed of these feelings, that I couldn't even tell you about them. I couldn't…

Just like D-Ray White’s tapping still bounces off the mountains if the right person is listening, Hasil’s hoots and howls are trapped in record wax like a blood-drunk mosquito in amber.

This wasn't going to be about her anymore.She tied her strong purple balloon to the neck of the wounded horse. Her skirt and her top felt like armor's breath. The tingle across her scalp felt warm. Small rug scrapes that made her think of her last dog, before she died.This…

You enter the lobby of the office building tentatively at first - you're a little nervous about this interview, after all - but you recall how spectacular and professional you dressed that morning. Plus you read through the company's LinkedIn profile at least five times…

When you encounter a body laying on the road, drive over it.

The robot may be grabbing onto something so big I'm mistaking it for the countryside, or the sunset. I could just be one cog in an infinite chain of leg-attachment, stretching from the cosmos to the sub-atomic.

“He looks funny again,” the twins would say. “Cow looks funny, Mummy.”

You lose her. In the vortex of guttered water, her tangled hair entwines. Tornado-like. Her body spinning boisterously at its core. Her name: Izra—the wooden doll with black pebbled eyes. …

Some nights you really feel it.