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getting there

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Seems hot for a Thursday, doesn’t it?

Thank God the Sixties Are Over With! Is All I'm Saying

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I am surprised that you’re not famous already. I remember sitting in your bedroom for hours just watching you while you wrote poetry. I was in awe of you, thinking you were going to be the next Dylan Thomas! Or Bob Dylan. Or Dylan Somebody! And I rememb

The Room of Doors

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"Which way ought we to go from here," he asked. She smiled again, "that all depends on where we want to get to." He nodded but didn't laugh so she sighed and strolled around the room, tuning and looking and considering her options.

Sunday Storms

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Poems reflect their poets. / Mine: ugly but loved. / It is just as well.

Instructions Found in an Empty Can of Coffee

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If you find a lone, sad honeybee, buy a Habitrail cage and make it your new pet.

Sailor & I

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We were born here. At the top of the stairs underneath a painting of basset hounds playing croquet. And a hallway closet filled with lost someones. And the police, three times a week, singing nursery rhymes while walking up to our door.

Full Moon

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Creatures of the dark don’t follow daylight savings

Ode to an Afro (or Going Natural in a Corporate World)

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In praise of the colorful flock with crowns of teased cotton candy rising high above Modular walls, stalled operating systems staling coffee and pale corner offices

Day Off Work

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My time glass allocation nears its end.

I Waited Too Long to Remember

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We're in a sedate forest next to a boisterous beach. The sky is sea green above the trees and forest green above Sinepuxent Bay. Chaste squirrels are keeping a lookout for bad-boy gulls. Kids on circus bikes ride out of the woods into their bathing suits. The…

Kwaazy Wabbit

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destroy the day rip up the track jump in the water eat nothing but bugs

Joint Custody – The Second Coming

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A little boy sits at the table. He hears a knock at the door.“Mo-om!” the boy calls out. “Door!”His mother comes from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her clothing.“Jesus!” she says. “Would it kill you to answer the…

The New Lycanthropy

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Who remains after the aching night has departed into dawn and left us to week-old sleep

Ten Beginnings of Stories about Grizzly Bears

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1. The Grizzlies met with the other forest animals for a meeting about voting rights. I was there too, you know, to prevent chaos or something. 2. Mom didn't like it when I took in a …

Give Me Back My Albert Hall

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“Now, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” is a hit of the eighties.”

Citronella Socks

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a cat named email..

Violet Hour

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“My name is Violet,” I add. I am trying to stop lying. Going without cigarettes has been easier.

Wanderer and The Temple

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the odd stone stands/taller than trees/it protrudes from the young forest/an old mecca but smooth

Johnny Bruzzone: Pool Hustler

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I was a coward and didn’t want to get killed like Heimley. Heimley was a nut at high school. I saw him myself one night put his hand right through the windshield of this car he was working on, along with a monkey wrench. Sure, he was drunk, but th

Desire

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The young monk rose early to jog, his appetites trailing like cats in heat.

Dust to Dust

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He began to chop the powdery substance and separate it into segments.

afternoons

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i think god composed afternoons with crayons

things to know about the people parked along the road that runs through Humboldt Park: part 20

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I traced the vein that rose in her temple when she got angry all the way along her body until it ashed out varicosely on her smooth calf.

Love-sad

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Then there she is, and she makes me love-sad; it's a vehement, absolute, hard love-sad no one else needs to understand, though they can see; it's an emotion so concrete it's felt from the chest, not from a tenuous concept called heart.

Ave Maria: Part 6

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“I swear that man is a force of nature.” This was her mother's way of describing her father whenever her mother came too close to the precipice. While growing up, she could never allow herself to fully acknowledge the meaning behind her mother's…

Thanatos Collective

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the cocksucking of strategic death planning

REM-Embering my LED

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Someone desperately dials a number. Iris, draped tight.

Downtown

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bullets in flight make sharp, snapping noises.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 8

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“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

Three : Sixteen

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We are a city of overworked workers.