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an EZ How to Guide in 50 simple steps
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The Misses Moses by Brad Watson from Aliens in the Prime of Their Lives The Moses sisters lived together, alone, in the fine old brick house near downtown where they…
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Can we survive our Y chromosome?
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He had a handsome dial tone, we called him every name but his.
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Hello floaty word man / suspended in smoke / chortling coughing with collapsing colon / spraying sounds into the day / making it night and ending the line
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skin cancer
walks along Zuma beach
at noon
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The Assistant is lost again in a grid city. Again she feels disconnected from the world. Where she is the sound has been switched off.
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His looks were polished like his shoes, his hair as black. No one would have guessed he made his living as a thief.
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the beeps, rhythmic,
tell us that you're still with us
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Under the darkness of their new city. The heave and moan of structures as they breathed and pulsed. Under the darkness of this city, under the hum of their florescent bulbs and the tumbling rattle of motorcars, the wheeze of their machines and the clank o
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The ocean smelled like decomposed plant life and clinically despicable vagina, but I still spoke of its power and my fear of it in moonlit clichés and she still listened.
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Roanne hungered. Memory had ruled her forever. Shards really, edged like machetes: daddy, whose fingers had eyes in the dark. Momma, ensconced in the shadows. Inside the church, those pairs of short…
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-Love is a rushing
of blood
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She said, “I think I’m pregnant,” but I thought that the sidewalk looked cleaner than usual,
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They acquire him in a bar that is famous for its shipwrecks.
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When I cook sausages, I am afraid I will not let them sit in the pan long enough, and they will be pink inside. Then, even if the pigs have been handled humanely, I and the person for whom I've prepared this meal will be at risk for some terrible stomach poisoning.Let's say…
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—Frank, how is your sex life?
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She’s not coming today. She didn’t come yesterday either.
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In the panic following news of my motorcycle crash, my honey fled the house without coat or wallet, and now, nearly midnight, we don’t even have cab fare home.
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Pholcidae...Daddy Long-Legs
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This new kid on the block, named Miller, showed up out of the blue one day, while we were throwing rocks and boulders down on this flimsy gray sheet of construction plywood that was covering an open trench in front of a new house on our block. One of the
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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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Published in Exquisite CorpseI…
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The next week, she sends a small white box in the mail / with tissue paper, a ceramic mold the color of bleached bone—
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my mouth is open, ready to bite your tiny toes
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forced to submit/
to reasonableness//
and universal healthcare.
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Why yes I began writing this, my bildungsroman, Who is Mitsy Jackson, in spring, 1974 or thereabouts, and thank you so much for asking.
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