I remember going out to a restaurant with some guy and a friend of mine who brought her little boy along. And suddenly her boy said, “I want to hear the man talk.” Well, that stopped us. Smart kid, I thought. He was fed up hearing her women friends talk

a soft wooden clatter, wind-battered reeds/bound to the banks of ditches rank,/ill-purposed waters slide into low swamps/whose waters into rivers seep and crawl.

Azure lowered her head, nearly burying it in the window, watching the helicopter land.

Minnie looked at her co-worker's nametag. "Destiny," she said to her. That's a pretty name. It suits you. You're an attractive young lady. Is your momma pretty?" "Not like I am," Destiny said as she smoothed her shiny black hair. "I'm honest about it 'ca

Dina was a woman obsessed. She had endured a three hour layover in Chicago and another four in Heathrow for this. (The flight she had enjoyed with a few glasses of red and an HGTV show about plumbing that she could watch again and again.) She had staked out this corner of…

Reverend Peter Roman could stand it no more. He stopped his speech. He felt a fire burning through him, a hatred for humanity and all the weaknesses of beings not perfect before God. He stood a long while, staring at the congregation. Then, he slowly spok

I don't look like other poets. / People hardly believe it when I say / "I write poetry, sometimes. / During lonely evenings."

So, my wife got fired from her job for being three minutes late five times. But he had it in for her, the fatty boss. He was lazy and she was smart, in line for his job. And she had a workman's comp case against the hospital—she'd slipped in pudding in the cafeteria…

One said 'Yes, I remember.' He was dark and tall and slender A masterful pretender who laid roses on the floor Appearing on the eve of morrow, so slow and full of sorrow With a costume he did borrow, borrowed from the poet's lore From the rare and rad

Like the term rogue cop

the moon is coming back now the shadow hovering and shiftingthe clouds a passing shroud I didn't know if I would be patient enough but now the sliver of light is increasing filling in / filling out the circle I am surprised by how much relief I feel there…

I wrote a poem and asked a professor to read it. / He said: IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE / like a mad man on meth, foam running down / his mouth crowded with sharp, shimmering teeth.

I go with the wind, like the smoke of this Marlboro red as it dances among the palm trees.

and the President didn't call.

I suggested when we passed the flesh shack that we turn around and that I go in and say to the sex workers that the Russians are fetching $3.5K per hour in Manhattan and it's private, unlike there at that road-side shack.