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Burger King Blues

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Read signs sometimes and you just might get where you're trying to go. When Eddie suggested they stop for a Whopper, Dennis said no. "Fuck Burger King, man. Let's get that Wendy's up there." They got…

I-35W

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my world cracked

Tales from the Golden Age

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Fucking buffalo, the curse of the writer.

Excerpt from "Change" where a 1963D Quarter is followed for a hundred years.

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May 1890 Rifle, COLORADO Only pressure can change one thing into another. In terms of time, the…

let’s play hooky

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There is just something about a thin, white cotton v-neck t-shirt, he thought, as he ran his hand over bleary eyes and dehydrated lips. He wanted her, as always. But he needed just a little more rest. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It…

Australia (from slushpilemag.com)

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Now Ninalee gets up from the table. She starts to put some snacks in a bag for Janny and Benjie, and some storybooks in there too, to read to them in the park: books about trains, mostly, and there’s one with a bus and one with a car...

Luce

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Lucy shrugs into the corner of the train's seat. She envelopes her IPod in both hands as if she's praying or holding a conch shell: safe, secure like when she visited a Morcombe beach in the school holidays. The only giveaway's the white headphone cord.

magnets

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... his skin glistened like a sharp blade

The Judge's Wife Part 4

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—Well, are you having an affair with Jack Mahler?

Shakespeare's Dark Lady -- John Hudson (review disguised as fiction)

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William Shakespeare (a surname that meant "wanker" back in the day, by the way)

The Four Despairs of Lumpy

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children love to push the gas up and down my limbs

whispered boat

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word boat

Aquis Submersus

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In a dream, he’s covered in masticated bits of paint and canvas and metal shavings and it keeps raining down until he’s buried and he wakes up with a yell.

Saga For The Eyes

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Stars fat as the stars that Van Gogh painted on his easel in Arles, a ring of candles burning on the brim of his hat. Stars that fill the night with delirium.

Venison

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It is hunting season in Jersey today. They say “There are too many deer in Jersey today.”

A Shot at Pool

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New waitress/bartender draws my attention to bare ankles and red hair

Standing in Line for Pac Man

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Sitting on the couch when we got cable television, on that first day. Pressing buttons that sounded like the slap that your attention span would take as you made your way through the twenty, thirty, forty channels. As you grew older, the amount of channel

As Poetry Month Ends, Prosaic Types Get Their Turn

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“I’m going,” O’Bannon-Krim says with exasperation as she throws trinkets such as Dylan Thomas beer coozies and Edna St. Vincent Millay hair scrunchies into a cardboard box.

Virgin

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Steven was a hollow tree of a man — outwardly normal for a tired fortysomething, but empty inside. He lived alone in an old farmhouse that reeked of decomposition and Lysol, the previous tenant having left a dozen skinned raccoon carcasses in the attic.

To Really Hear

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He's driving in the Sierra Nevada with his wife and their small daughters and the girls are fighting and he can't take much more of it.

A Special Assignment

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In the graph of life or death, two axes will inevitably meet. Will it be as jarring as two sharp and well-hewn axes colliding?

We Are Waiting For The Wolves

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You say we will go together to the park and dig a shallow grave and atone for everything we ever did by breathing soil deep into our lungs, and the wolves will leave.

A Shadow on the Summer Sun

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Shadows are so admirable in film noir less so on x-rays and mammograms

Breakfast for Ten

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Chuck woke when he smelled cooking.

Anthropometamorphism

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I have known a head become / a callus, matriculate, stop / shaving, move to Vegas

Farewell Letter to the Blues

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And, you peasy-headed shrew, don’t you dare think I didn’t notice that it was you who stuck that fork into my neck in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot late Tuesday night . . .

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 8

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—So much for a cocktail at the tender hour of twilight, he told the empty beer bottle.

Tiger Lily

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4th of July weekend, Woodland canyon, summer heat like the Garden of Eden, lush, green, secluded. She lay by the creek in a lounge chair under dappled shade from the sycamore trees, listening to the frogs jump and the birds sing, admiring the orange tiger lilies that…

The Assassination of Sadat

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Just beyond the corkscrew slide / the President of Egypt was bleeding to death

The Perfect Note

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Everything needs context, otherwise reality would be nothing more than stardust with a spark.