like the Bible in / Mauritania, like a mouse in a vial of ammonia, / like a retired coal miner on vacation in the Alps

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 was, so I was told, the product of much hard work and a lot of invasive procedures. Initially, I'm sure my parents were making love, but then came the slog, the repeated failed attempts at getting one of mother's millions of eggs fertilized. Those tadpoles just couldn't…

Sometimes you have to go wild; you have just to go fucking nuts. You do.

When you say they were too big, too wild, they weren't too big to be giants. Giants are meant to dwarf things. They can't help it. They're not trying to make you feel helpless to give them a haircut. They just grow fast. But they…

Take no form or face beautiful enough to cause warfare, or that which would provoke inanimate objects to song. If a tree wishes to flower in your presence, request that this happen very slowly.

When I arrived in heaven Calling out your name Running just on vapor Leaving my old flames I thought I saw you singing Dripping from all sides Crying like a rainbow Reliving our old lives

It was your present world that seemed more than mad to me. Your polished stiff brown shoes that always squeaked like mice, while the latest rude Bombers bubbled up in their comfortable Dart-board garages like apple pies…

years later, she won’t go near the trees

he wanders the house/ crying for the hairless tomcat/ (gone for the night/ on an overnight job).

Speaking of stiff nipples, I heard you once wanted to become a painter, because of your fondness for nipples. Feeling like Gauguin and his little Polynesian women/girls, are we? So, you're going to try to out-paint God, are you, Mr. Sistine Chapel of the

Hits start, enters numbers, runs the program / Does this again one hundred times / Then takes a break

Holding a bouquet of flowers wrapped in a tissue in one hand, a round shape that balances the round yellow burst of light that is her dress. While the flesh of her chest bulges forward and she balances as though in a holding pattern in flight.

Now, this boy removed his socks in front of me, on the chair beside my desk where I read my books, and said: “My toenails aren’t shaped properly.”

Ivy Oppel was one hard cousin to cry for. And a hard woman, too, but Ooops! Kapow! There's a hole in her head. Not hard enough, then. I'm harder, thought Dumasha. A girl with a gun can have some fun in this world.