"Maybe…" he began searching for some comforting wisdom. "Maybe it's like this. Husbands live for their wives. Mothers live for their children. And children...well...until they're husbands or wives, they live for themselves."

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

"My love is with eggs!"

Sometimes, to be sad, you don't need tears.

I was in life, in my dream. I was feeling around underneath your clothing. My fingers were shining in the underwater afterlife of memory, searching for those lovely nipple-sized mollusks. I lived in a land somewhere between the past and the future. Now

blackberry pie and huckleberry wine and litte Maria with her summerset bangs

You snore and the house is safe again.

Of flowers there Are none In June No sun Upon my cheek The gentle breeze Stirs me not The smiles They cloud my vision Birds they Sing their songs But I hear Them not When tears Rain down My heaven.

“We could dooble date,” he said.

Neither of us thought of real winning. We set about brilliant losing, dark angel forms of luck and greed, the desire, the craving, the need to lose so strenuous that one wins; we tied at thirteen.

He then spent his walk home to his single apartment spitting up various textures of red, combinations of cherry and blood mostly.

The courts had scheduled the date long ago but the time, an hour always left to the warden, had yet to be decided.

philanthropy corrugated with a smirk / printed aside every cardboard box and room / every cardboard house with every cardboard door.

and coughed its grey net over the candle lit world outside. Birds of an arrow sprang into thin air and disappeared over the hills in a quick shortness of zoom-breath-- like a stiffened branch snapping . It's cold. There're …

My brother Herb married his high school sweetheart right after completing college. This was a girl named Beryl, whom he'd met originally in Mr. Reinert's marching band at York High School in Elmhurst. I remember one day in particular in the middle of the