1666 5 3
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She worked the research desk. Like most ladies before computers and cell-phones she lead a quiet conservative life. She wore dresses, spent time with family and friends...Emma also had been stricken as a child
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166620
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The wind blows off the ocean soft and cool. I close my eyes in hopes to strengthen my sense of touch. A bit of sand wriggles through my teeth; crunchy and salty like spoiled oven-roasted peanuts. I imagine the air would smell like low tide if it wasn't constantly…
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166632
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“Hi. I’m Rita Bates,” I had said. “Can I sit here?
The boy who introduced himself as Thomas told me I could, so I did, and his friends all introduced themselves in turn. Around the table there was Bev, Ernest, someone whose name started with an F – maybe
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166665
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Santa’s stuck/you say? In the chimney of course./The lard-arsed ol’bastard struggling
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166642
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There was a small slanted hole through the edge of the door, and another one in the door frame. She pushed the door closed to check. The holes matched up.
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166631
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The TV projects from an insect arm. It has the face of my ex-husband, smiling and void. I like to set small fires and inhale them.
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166630
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white-gray mounds persist
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166620
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[B]y fleeing the city to live on the outskirts of nowhere—a place so far off the beaten path that even Duras’s aging Mr. Andesmas would have felt isolated—I was of course trying to escape from none other than myself.
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166641
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A tanka/haiku poem about grandma getting run over by a reindeer.
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166697
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MOSAIC Your eyes coal-rimmed, busted, burned by betrayal. You and I, knee to knuckle, skinny with disorders and blurred around our edges. Challenged by our experience and the ash of past-love dusting the grate, the state, the…
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166664
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It's that day in July when you feel really bummed because you can't find your favorite white sleeveless shirt that you wear on the hottest days of the yea
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166500
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“There goes that slut Kerri Stanton,” the immense woman behind the counter chuckled to her patron. “Who the hell does she think she is?”
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1665108
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I bit her ear and /
it was burnt toast
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166510
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At last one of the men on the line bowed his head in a silent prayer for deliverance from what was about to come, then lifted his head and shouted loudly for his fellows to charge.
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166500
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Her fever spreads through lines of a plaid mini, over burnt milk, darkened to yellow. Fingers explore fabric folds up and into the lost dimensions of logic.
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166594
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don't look at me honey, I fell on the table,
my hair is on fire, my heart is unstable
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166574
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I was just sitting in the corner, stirring my stories with a straw that sucked characters out of bars.
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166574
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He calls it an owl glass: he’s allowed: he’s six.
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166565
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I reach into my pocket for my keys and discover the cough drops Iput there a week ago have melted. Now my fingers are sticky. And I don’t have my keys.
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166544
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I try to enjoy my bookbut the mannequins keep tapping at the windowWhen I look up they vanish Outsidefibreglass clouds are kept in placeby invisible wires——Sometimes the mannequins …
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166540
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Little stuff at first: mistaking their dog for a cat, attempting to start the car with a bar of soap, or using a newspaper to dry the dishes. Lately, he’d been slipping: calling her by his mother’s name during sex, berating his boss for lackluster profit
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166522
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Not to sound too ridiculous, but Hurt was giving me the hurt, and it felt good.
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16651413
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166521
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He finished the omelet and started in on the short stack. He drowned the cakes in syrup.
-Never can have enough syrup.
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166552
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I’ve just moved to New York City and, somehow, Scarlett Johansson is at the same party I’m at.
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16651614
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They are all sleeping, but I know better. I will keep watch and if he comes tonight I will be alert and ready. When he arrives he'll see the slack mouths, the graceless sprawls, hear the grunts, snorts and snores of the other women and then he'll sense me. My eyes will…
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166410
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When Mt. St. Helens erupted, I knew that was the end of Bigfoot.
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1664125
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the memories return like they do every year at this time
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166400
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You and I will never meet. You will never even know I existed. Even in dreams you will never imagine me. Someone told me once that your sleeping mind cannot conjure up new faces. It just spits out all the ones you’ve ever seen and that’s it. That’s it.
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166450
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