Or, do my own red flags counter balance his. My back and forth, my restlessness, my one foot out the door, my ‘once a leaver… always a leaver’, my pitter patter for a former flame... peppered with my transgressions, my mistakes. Or, worse, the way I have

Fat Patty sniffs the delicate waft of peat and sidles over, proffering a grope in exchange for a few wet-lipped swigs. Hell yes.

Ginny, the mother, was a lark in every respect of the word. Born and raised in central California farm country, to a family of lower middle class means, educated in public schools in whose bathroom stalls she was deflowered as unceremoniously as a pig ta

This time the bag's bigger/than the boy and the door.

(haiku)

At last, we learn if Blow has the cojones to fight.

Ayane took another look of the area and it was large warehouse. A loud thud vibrated outside.

Reading at Menlo Park Senior Center, old people falling asleep leaning to the left in their chairs, all in the same direction.

When I get my legs pumping, I’ll pop a spoke if I'm not careful. Massive fucking energy! And all that fat I was talking about? I don’t even really have that much of it, any of it really. My body fat is like one percent, which the doctors tell me isn’t

Her breath was on me

I’m not ready for football. I’m not ready for it, but I live in a southern town that worships at its altar more devoutly than those suicidal beauties in James Wright’s great poem.

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

If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.

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

For decades the land the village sat on had switched its allegiance between two countries.