"We gotta get out of here", you said

// opening act: van featuring balloon featuring drugs // headliner: lubv ya babe

Age Eight: Custody battle. Reassure your worried mother that it’s alright, this will give you something interesting to tell your children one day. Until now, life has been very vanilla.

Afterward, at the motel, I asked her why she liked sex so much, and she said she liked the taste.

Mosaics are a trick of the eye, seeming

A performance is a series of situations. Each situation defines the characters that are in it.

You are like gasoline on the fire of my desire–you send me higher and higher into paroxysms of earth-shaking erotic explosions. Remember–the “light” catfood is the kind in the turquoise bag.

I say her- it might be him-/ but from a distance I supply the details I prefer.

My husband waits for him to hurt himself. The boy drinks red wine between movements, Staring hypnotically at the back Of a girl’s head.

My mother saw the Devil everywhere, even in my dance teacher, with his black leotards and chest hair like bean sprouts. "You're flamingos," he'd say in class when we balanced on one foot; when we lept into the air, "Now you're panthers!" I pictured him in a dark robe,…

Biscuits and gravy. I'm off today, I'm lazy.

The summer when I was six and my sister Audrey was eight, she'd walk around our house pretending to be in a trance, fingers strategically hovering over my mother's vases and lamps, leaving smudges behind on my father's heavy oak desk and rocking chair. She'd lumber past my…

At the third or fourth discotheque I drink so much I accidentally find myself happy.

Kick your employer in the ass. Emotions are strange experiments in honesty.