1523 1 1
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Max sighed. Solving for x was boring, so mind numbingly boring that he didn't notice the flickering blue light hovering in his room. It crackled and popped, growing until a shimmering rectangle stretched from floor to ceiling.A hand pushed out from the rectangle, and a…
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152332
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"Sometimes things just don’t go as planned. It doesn’t mean anyone is to blame - It just is."
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152388
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My stories are ramshackle; they lurch along in old sweaters with holes and missing buttons, drinking from mismatched cups and saucers.
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1523116
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Everything is bound to change like / a damsel to the tracks.
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1523126
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It comes to me at night, the monster. I don't even realize it's in the room until I hear it breathing behind me. It reaches out its hands and places them on my shoulders. Its fingers are furry and soft, but strong. They grasp the muscles on either side of my neck, and I…
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152354
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I am i said pursued by the feeling of being watched.You are she said -- by yourself. As in a dream, a dream you know you're dreaming. Which changes nothing.We are she said watching from the mezzanine, half-above, at once a part and apart.
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152241
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It was one of those sweltering afternoons that San Diego endures only several times a summer. I'm riding on El Cajon Boulevard, with my friend John in his old Chevy pickup. John is a lifelong San Diego resident and fanatical Charger backer. He's talking up some…
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152201
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Galloping people, tangled in ballets of hot love, weaving in and out, making a canvas of it.
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152252
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Not to...Witness such sufferingWatch as a life fades awayReceive the callAttend this funeralBe surrounded by well meaning family and friendsStand by helplessly as my father sobs in his brother's armsNotice the pain settle in my brother's eyesSee my grandparents' tortured,…
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152244
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The last chick in the nest
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152212
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1522157
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but most times/
it’s just improvisation//
with phrases of unknown origin/
swirling in my head
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152274
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152232
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Being an uncredited bonus composition, written in the sublimest access of divine afflatus this poet believes his lyric verse has ever known. “In olden times, dark was not counted fair”: Those were the words, I think, of some old poet. …
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152211
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You’re listening to Smooth FM, taking you from the darkest hours to the start of a brand new day.
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152287
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He invited her in for a Martini and she graciously accepted.
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152251
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A dead deer on the side of the road and the older boys not listening to her as they stab its eye with a stick.
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152221
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She positioned the mouse cursor over the word Bikini and double clicked. The hard drive of the ageing work PC chugged into life as an Excel document dragged itself onto the screen.
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152242
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Last night we slept with books in the bed.
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152222
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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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1521116
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Jane knew what to do
when she heard murmurs in the ceiling,
knew what to do when she struck out on the moor.
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152132
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today on the bus/ a man in his fifties/ smiled at a baby/
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152144
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people keep trying to get me/ "out of the house"./ they see fun in me, and cool in me,/ and want to spend time with me,/ and i am flattered most sincerely./
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1521105
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Cultivate your vaginal tears
at the gates of Thigh and Holy.
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152132
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...he was suddenly and hazily relieved that he had something in Persepolis and blue agave plants to talk to her about.
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1521105
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and, under foot,//
dark caves waiting/
with their unseen pigments/
adorning forgotten walls.
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152141
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You can't always be everything
you were expected to be
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152132
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I don't mind being dead. It's ok. Really. I've discovered a whole new way of being based on non-being. What else can you do? I like being invisible. I like groaning and rattling chains. I used to be a writer. Still am. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that…
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152120
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I can’t deny you’re beautiful, though it’s unsure how many of your defects are fudged by my myopia.
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152173
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They called him “Albert, the Human Armadillo,” and he was. Rows of hard scales ran down the course of his chest, and he was studied and biopsied by doctor after doctor. “Psoriasis,” they said. “Or, eczema.” They prescribed ointments and oils that left him
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