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Van Gogh: Sidewalk Cafe at Night

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The heart of those stars is a dab of yellow light. The darkness of the blue night appears so deep because the downward strokes of the actual sky are interspersed with a violet that’s almost black,

Ruins

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The camera moves slowly around the interior of a building inhabited by books.

IMPACT

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He sees how he could release the duck, imagines it winging low over the water to where the others have made it safely.

Losing Things

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I infuriate myself with this gift.

A Familiar Song of Love Song

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Take a bird down from the sky, just for a moment, it endears you to me. Find a raindrop in the pouring rain, it is a jewel beyond compare, unless you Are directly in possession of it. Drop it. There is a star that I cannot help seeing In the…

Play

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“Jerome always came to play with ideas. It was like he was already thinking about it before we started. I loved his ideas. It caused me to think about it as well. We did variations on a theme and there was always a goal. Sometimes it was to grow and deliv

66 W

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He said he'd meet me at the Lyric before curtains. For drinks. Only he didn't. Which was OK. The seat was softer, roomier without him. Buzzer rang, doors closed. His loss. Rusalka was clearer. More resonant. Vibrant. Better. …

The Recall Year

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I remember where I was when I heard the news. Across my computer screen: FDA demands recall for 2008 — all 365 days.

Living Through Fuzzy

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They politely urged him not to get too involved with his creations.

Miracle of Life

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We received the news unexpectedly. The suspicion was true. The nausea and fatigue were caused by the honor of your presence in our lives. We had waited for you for years. We had prayed endlessly for the universe to bless us with your gift; with you as our gift. And…

Moving On

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The woman finished packing her things as the man walked in. They looked at one another for a long moment. …

the best laugh i've had all day

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when down the street/ a female cat/ yowls with the force/ of a red light blazing/ in an alley.

Small Talk

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Her fingers scampered over the table, practicing the deft stitching of the basilar artery.

My Coyote

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

In Paris, The Sweltering

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Then dared each other to travel Much further

The Scavenger

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I am a scavenger. I sit on the telephone wire, a ravenous vulture watching a man and a woman arguing across the street. The clouds remind me of ashy marshmallows I found in a fire pit yesterday. The woman starts violently shoving the man; he stumbles…

Hero Song

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paper cuts, an old film unraveled from its reel, risking exposure.

Napomo 17: April 13 - 18

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Bones consolidate with age. The fleshy/ bits of body follow by wrinkling and/ spreading outward, appearing to expand.

And the fucking black dress.

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The fucking black dress; the fucking black dress that obfuscates whether or not you're pretty in the face, that obfuscates the sound of your voice, that obfuscates the color of your hair, your eyez, your skin,

Valentine's Day

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I first met you in a February, but my best early memory is of your deep and sweaty tan. You'd been to Florida, I ran into you in the market, the sight of your tan made me hard for your pale parts. It was summer, you were dressed all in white, I invited you…

The Perfect Recipe

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You treat them like I’m hungry. Fix it.

Book of Forgetting

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To make your own, obtain a book with blank pages. Collect materials; postcards, photographs, magazines. Make rules to determine what you do with them. Write things down. Make other rules to determine whether you write in the book or on pieces of paper

Empty Spaces

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Art lives.

"A Death by the Sea" (excerpt)

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Then a flicker caught my eye. To the left of the balcony, where the residential high-rise abutted a commercial building to its right, a shape--half-dark, half-lit--stood on a limestone ledge.

How To Write a Poem

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an EZ How to Guide in 50 simple steps

Taunting the Tiger

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I was headed back inside my den since these creeps just wouldn’t stop and thought they were the most hilarious creatures on the face of the earth, and I was afraid, to be honest, that one of their missiles might hit me in the eye. That’s when I n

The Serious Writer’s Obituary

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...was discovered today hanging from a shower outlet in his bathroom...

A Sight for Sore Thighs

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You kissed me, and my heart stopped beating – it didn’t need to any more. I had your heart to beat for both of us.

Monolith

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She seems to be demanding someone donate to her a beard. No one has gone any further with this, and the electricity of her song about beards, listing, growing more undulant, crescendos.

Haze

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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.