By the time the forked tongue of the flag extended flat like it was pressed between two of my thick volumes on weather forecasting, the man was still walking with his nose glued to the ground.

During the hangover, I crawl to my desktop computer and then Google “rapid STI testing” and “speedy divorce”

. . . once you start reading and thinking about what he's saying, it's like looking at the reflection of your soul in a mirror . . .

It's advertised as a romance. The poster shows a Sudanese woman with a child at her side collecting gum from Acacia trees.

He stopped believing in God when he learned how balls worked. Spermatocytes turned into spermatids and spermatids turned into spermatozoa, the transition taking place in tiny loop de loops called the seminiferous tubules which contain at least three…

As a child I drowned myself in the pages of books, and as a writer I prefer to be left alone with my imagination.

Today, the buxom neighbor carrying blintzes Egged me not to care about What’s not flat. She forgot To bend, clanging together Some fronts and sides.

let competitions in crime ensue let every madness bring let every sword be drawn let every furious rage flow free let anger know no shame let all blind rage inflame . . .

sheets, white, coarse redolent with Clorox

Whistler pounded a nuanced nail, into our inferior foreheads.

When I look at the picture on my refrigerator, I always think the same thing: "Hitler was a baby once too, look how well he turned out."

I honestly can’t say, with Lynda, who cheated first. More than likely Lynda did, because I know she was pregnant when I came home from college for the summer (this was 1963) and we had to go out and find a doctor who would give her some pills to get rid

Once upon a time I sat in summer chairs beside cool vine walls. This was in a borough east of the major city, where families gathered in seasonal joy, by blooms fragrant, to worship the summer and its might. There is nothing diminutive about the world when one is…

I have become interested in Carracci / Ludovico Carracci

At the Winslow Funeral Home in Winslow, Arizona, just like in the Eagles’ 70s song “Take It Easy,” only I’m not taking it easy.