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.

My father seems anxious about my gender orientation. I grew up looking like a boy, acting like a boy. He bought dresses and girly stuff for me but he avoided making an issue of it until recently.

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

Neither you nor I is old enough, of course, to remember that America’s most popular athlete once was a horse.

Every day, I write myself further away From the East Where we began

The kitchen is full of old girlfriends. I avoid them. They are munching on cheddar and sharing stories I'm sure I don't want to hear.

Ruth carries always a small bottle of nitroglycerin; and tissues, wads of tissues; two Tums (for calcium, she tells me)...

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…

A dark and mysterious account of an ancient traveler seeking arcane literature, and the miserable results to him after he receives what he sought.

At some point we all reach the end point/ of something. Something important/ if only to our fragile self esteem.

It is your music that makes me want to crack open my ribcage and rip out my heart as it still beats, to cauterize my carotids, and shove the mechanical insides of a clock into my thoracic cavity.

It's saying, "It feels as if you've given me your old, your tired and your poor. I feel much older than the years you've logged."

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

where will we be/ when it happens?

I want the luxury of hearing other people who disagree with me tell me why I’m an asshole!