Falling Water almost fell./ 12 million dollars later// it will splay itself a little longer

Warren Jeffries left this girlfriend of his named Karen, who was also a poet, and overnight she announced she’d gone back to being a lesbian, she’d so had it with MEN! She did a reading of her new series of Sappho poems at Cody’s Bookstore,

and the moon shines on like a silver dollar and coyotes in the desert scream and holler

“You should've let him drown,” she once told me. Doesn't she see that I did? I'll let her drown, too.

Myrna came home from her new, midnight shift, waitressing job at the Waffle House saying she was sorry but she couldn't take any more gray-haired Jesus-types with their dollar bills held high, releasing a few so they would flutter, as if borne by wings, onto the tables as…

Which is worse?

The inhabitants of the surrounding neighborhood steered clear of the Lot, mindful of its existence, its countless drags of scrap, drenched with the fused association of many scenes and emotions from memory and experience. Left to its own devices, the place is now…

[WARNING: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 'R XMAS!]

　 　 I met a girl so sweet, So sweet that she could Break your heart 　 No girl, no one should Be so sweet So sweet that she melts My depression 　 Increase my anxiety 　 No one should be so sweet 　 More like a little girl Than her 25 years 　 If…

The little girl spooned strawberry yogurt into her mouth as a pleasant morning breeze swept across the balcony of the hotel. The girl lifted the cup and stuck her tongue inside to lick the yogurt off the edges. Across the small round table, the girl's mother sat…

Nor woke, as always, to a dark room smelling of the lavender she kept in little bottles to perfume the otherwise stank air. Outside, she could still see the edge of the moon hanging there like a lopsided smile. The early summer wind blew in and stirred the faded floral…

can they approve, our/gods in our wallets? only/when we tell them to.

Slept on a chair last night in the Springfield, Mass., bus terminal. It was March, and a dude in shorts asked: "Yo, you smoke trees?" I said, "Sure. Who doesn't?" He said, "You buyin'?" I said, "Nope, I'm going out of the country." He smiled and said, "Alright." He started…

“Per­haps instead of a book I could write lists of words, in alpha­bet­ical order, an ava­lanche of isol­ated words which expresses the truth I still do not know” — Italo Calvino albu­men before child grit secretlyshame august blood …

Clear as my conscience may be, you still haunt me as the brown settles to black sit there and recommence as if nothing had ever happened, your hands conducting the orchestra of your purity.