As a kid he had run away from the family farm and shoveled coal back East to put himself through college. Now he was just another old man in a nursing home, desperate for a drink, his blue eyes bleary, a sticky goo filming at the corners of his lips.

So this was how it started. The next day Kia returned to sit with him a bit and the next day and the day after that until the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Eventually she found out his name was Saul, that he had no 'proper' job, was o

It's not stories the quiet lack, but inclination...

While most spread their time in other occupation, I traveled through books and grew my imagination. I knew endless bliss. I was a book eater. I would just devour books that I loved and slug through those I didn't, just to make myself eat the truths and li

the tall, thin ectomorph sat on the verdant, green grass as the unclothed naked woman on the Sunday-picnic blanket poured white cow’s milk into a vodka shot glass

“Okay,” Boris said, wiping his mouth, “ready to go see these paintings by Lenin? We go now.” “Where are these paintings exactly?” Ellen of Troy (NY) asked. I didn’t mention which Troy she was from. “I have friend in Prague,” Vladimir said. “Has sh

I tell him if he wants to impress a girl he should learn to cook. He shifts his body. I add, crab cakes work well.

The sound of a siren approaches his home. His wife asks him why he's so nervous. It's nothing, he says, but he rises from the couch and peers into the night from behind the curtains. The siren approaches relentlessly. The road twists and turns and the sound fades but always…

This gravity thing, I reckon, is enamored with me. It loves me so much that it has fettered me with itself.

“I fly in my dreams,” his mother said. “It's my privilege.”

“You've got to be kidding me. A robot?”, said Marge as she rotated in the chair at her desk. She removed the leaf of paper from the typewriter and set in down on the desk. She looked up at Parkins who was leaning against the wall nursing a cold cup of…

You go out on a night with no moon, when all the stars are flush in the sky, when all of everything, even you, is just a shadow moving softly, and I swear, you can hear it, if you listen hard enough. The music. It’s like it’s coming from under the ground.

The thumb, incarnate, knows/ the moment of the misplaced hammer blow;/ the tongue, incarnate, the cool invigoration/ of water drawn from the dark well.

Man, this bearskin rug was a big, awkward sonofabitch on his back....

Self-possession. He had it. In his arctic white t-shirt; blonde haired, broad shouldered, unburdened. “I will make you love me,” he had said, in a bar.