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Cat summoned for jury duty in Boston

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Cat summoned for jury duty in Boston Wayward hawk loose inside Library of Congress finally caught (God only knows what happened to the doves) Vacaville roof collapse blamed on bird droppings These are a few of my favorite things Piano mysterio

The Wooden City

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Ah, how sweet is forbidden fruit, how delicious undiscovered sin!

A Skeptic’s Faith

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Sunrise steals

Diarrhetic Discharge (w/Edgar Allan Poe)

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That Orndoff! I'd like to shove that pipe of his up his arse.

Homonyms

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Ascent/Assent Together the horizon/ Catechism of love

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 4

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He arrived at Bellevue hospital in a straight jacket bound to a gurney.

Christmas Email from an Aging Wicked Stepmother

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Your stepsisters send their love. All three are still on the wagon.

Wavering Faith

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Grady Quail wondered why God didn't just have another son

Monkey Business

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Benjamin stands beside his bed and unpacks his few things – wire cutters, knife, tape, line, two blocks of C-4, wallet, brush, and a small stuffed animal – a monkey.

The Child's Veil

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You said yes

Father Dunne's School for Wayward Boys #1

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A young girl wavering between celibacy and punk mother-lust despair came to visit us each night

Magdalena

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Magdalena followed the receding tide, her tiny feet leaving no rumors in the hard sand. She gathered only the most beautiful shells and presented them to her waiting Abuela. Her grandmother told her that the only things that a woman truly owns are her dreams. She told her…

Lanyards

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theme songs for concentration camps!?

Uncle Ned

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There was this old guy named Ned. He swept floors. No one knew much about him. He'd been around for years sweeping the concrete floors of the hangar-sized buildings that housed the major mechanical service departments at an old amusement park.

Summer, 1966

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After my mother died, my father shipped me to my uncle's. He hadn't told me she was dying, so he could just mourn alone.Lena lived next door, Italian, my age -- which was ten -- beautiful. She was watched by goons in black suits. Her parents owned a restaurant. Across the…

The Weight of a Gun

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The first time I ever held a gun, I was three years old...

The Man in the coat

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A man wearing a dark green coat closed the door loudly. Tanu sat up straight, and stared at him. He looked around till he found her face and sat down in front of her.

Non-Self: Light, Dark

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You gather their faces in the palms of your hands and their purple eyes blink, blink, unseeing.

Tides

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Tides

Past Due

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When Mr. Hawk died, he discovered something. Heaven was like being the library forever. Hell was like being in the library forever. Only one of those places had Ava Gardner.

The mannequins are only playing dead

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at nightthe mannequins leave their glass prisons and hunt owls in the forest***sometimes they dance a slo-mo tarantella in a clearingbone-white …

About Face

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I'll strip off the skin down to the begin again.

Walking to Gibraltar, Chapter 13: In Which Dr. Cowboy Rides Again

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Frank sat next to her on the gurney and squeezed her hand. "You're going to be okay, Astrid. You're going to wake and it's going to be over and you're going to be okay." "You don't know that," she said.

Showtime

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Showtime on Broadway.

The Weather in Paradise

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I immediately felt anxious guilt, being the one responsible for opening the way for infection.

Cheating at Strip Poker

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I remember one time when we played strip poker in the basement of your house on Euclid Avenue, me, Terry, you and Andy. And I remember drinking lots of wine and fixing the deck so that you kept losing and having to take off all your clothes, and still you

Catching Mitt For Sadness

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He stops smiling and only says he loves me when prompted, as if asking me to pass the salt for his inner peace as it tastes too bland.

a few of my favorite beacons of hope and tenderness

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life is a lucky thing, bountiful among the drugs and flowers

Napomo 17: April 19 – 24

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There are no inspirations./ There are only the things I like/ and the much more numerous// things I do not like.

All These Poets

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All these poets with their wrinkled hands full of freshly poured over poems are driving me into the dried wheat fields like a black block of crows. Offering a collectable cigarette, they light the damned thing with another hand-rolled poem,…