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...That flash of horror as well as the lie that replaced it were mirrors of sorts and both told the truth.
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Mercury and Gemini disappointed.
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When a multinational big box furniture store opened just off the expressway outside the city selling all the same products at greatly reduced prices, they contemplated the possibility of closing their store.
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rockstar, moviestar, literary supernova – burning out before all the planets are declassified.
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A Nocturne, whose grey mana seeped out of it mouth, grabbed the roof of the building with its large claws. Using it as leverage, it stood itself up, hunched over, its long whale like head roared like a loud horn.
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because you pay/
for it to matter to me.
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The Street singer gathers up his coins
and counts to a hundred before
The last string stops vibrating
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1.As fast as that I wake to astonishing desire. I'd met you at my parents' house just the weekend before but for them (them the drained students trying to relax, refill before their afternoon sessions) you are the stranger in the room,…
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She didn’t think of herself as an undesirable, no, she didn’t, but did find herself cowering in face of the presumed judgment of those around her. They had more money, more clout, more everything.
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She drinks a chocolate martini. I fold myself up and slide into her pocket.
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The poppers, the Viagra, the chorizo – all had been ordered and all had arrived.
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It is a hot August night — the same kind you remember from that summer after high school graduation. A cool breeze blows in off the ocean, sweeping across the boardwalk just hard enough to dry the …
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My poems have appeared in four different publications; three have died shortly after they ran my stuff. Coincidence, or something more sinister?
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That old woman's got to be senile or something. The other day she asked my daughter if I had a "thing about water." Sharon told her I didn't, but then came right in and asked me, "Mother, you got a thing about water?"
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I pull into the parking lot and see a group of roosters squawking and trying to overturn an ‘87 Pontiac Bonneville that's caught fire. They're pouring whiskey down their throats. They're weeping over a bag of economy sized frozen breast fillets.
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TV and power cord valorized in dust,/
wires and digital guts unimpaired, I’d guess . . .
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They meant no harm when they flooded farms in its swirls and eddies
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What I Love About HistoryMy roommate, Cara, wears all black, which she thinks scares me. I've never bothered to tell her I wore all black for two years, eighth and ninth grade, and I'm just over it, not that I think she's lame or passé, but there's nothing remotely…
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They were just boys, the Nazis I mean, young in their twenties, not much older than my brother Cyril.
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The Rapture comes and goes unannounced in carbonated soda bubbles spicing the air.
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Then he took the tune out to Ben Clarone land. The horn was beautiful, if leaky. His fingers flew over the keys.
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They look like giant golden raindrops, or flying saucers, or peculiar fish out of their element
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jaws blossoming with drool,/ a captured wolf slinks low/ across the crowded land/ for that most tender lamb/ to catch it by surprise.
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People Who Go to Poems for Truth
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The leaves were meaningless because they were no longer connected to the trees.
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Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.
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Ben was in no mood for games. His ribs hurt and his eye was painful. He would have to tell this girl, who had flicked her tongue in his ear and who did not sound like Sophie, to get lost
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