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1I'VE BEEN looking though books of paintings and I've been thinking …
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I used to be a poet, you know. /
Better, in many respects, than you.
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Esmée sat alone at a table on the terrace at Marina Jack’s in Sarasota. She had been there ten minutes and no waitress had approached her.
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No matter how bad his hair turned out or how avocado shaped one of those miscreants could make his head look, he would remain silent.
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Sometimes when I fall I see a ...
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We talk of his time in the jungle.
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A young boy, breathing heavily from running, stopped at her feet, barely able to speak,
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Any form of exertion would defile what we are trying to do
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It was cold and clammy, but then it got worse. Far worse. Any opportunity to celebrate the unity and harmony of tolerance was soon cancelled.
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William Shakespeare (a surname that meant "wanker" back in the day, by the way)
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I found a diseased fish / wedged between some boulders near the pier
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Where the skin had grazed, shredded by the coarse gravel to form scabs, fascinated Jack. It reminded him of his youth and his own grazes, scratches and stitches. As a boy he imagined scabs were rough foundations of igneous rock, blood like lava pouring th
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Ben was not a happy musician.
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The last chick in the nest
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His shirts he hangs on the back of the chair, one on top the other so they won't wrinkle.
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There is a roofer straddling part of our house, pushing shingles off of our roof with the edge of a shovel. …. I've thought seriously, at times, about becoming a nurse. Seeing your mother in a hospital bed, hooked up to a tube, more than one, too…
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If I could say only one thing more to Tony who died a month ago, there is one thing I could find to say
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1. On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Eve woke to find herself transformed into a gigantic chess piece made of zeros and ones.2. Eve gazed so long at her smartphone that she found herself falling into it.3. She fell for a time that may have been short or long or…
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gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour
and just getting under way
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Two women are escorted to the desert, where they are shackled to the ground. Who are they, what have the done, and will they survive?
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You think there’s a chance the bag could be holding a severed head, or live or dead kittens.
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sometimes it's hard/ to leave the house in the morning/ when bed is so comfortable/ and you're so far away.
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ghosts of the previous owners who leave a trail of whispers
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Hey, Y'all! Like I told y'all, I checked myself into this what you call a “ facebook Rehab Clinic” up here just about 40 miles outside of Kalispell, Montana in a little town called Gulag. I quit MySpace and that got me a reduced rate. Things are…
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He rolls in unbidden across the stubble fields /
Old acquaintance astride a newly booming cloud/
Under sky an alien shade of strawberries whipped/
Her watch stops ticking out the rest of her/
scheduled breathing poses
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We’ve already agreed on a date when Jack posts some new pictures of himself. I have to swallow. Hard. In four days Jack’s become twenty years older!
On Thursday, a boyish thirty-something was smiling at me from my PC. This Monday I find myself stari
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