The retina was burning, the liquid had dried up, and the veins bursting. My eyes bled. But I kept them open. The sound was like nails on glass, screeching endlessly. Coming close to me louder, harder, faster.

A decade, at minimum, was how long their notes had transpired.Still, they all knew how it would end.

J., W., and W.’s girlfriend were exploring the nature and mores of homosexual conduct by discussing whether W. would be willing to suck J.’s cock.

We were careful not to wake the kids & goodbye with a handshake & my skeleton is trapped with your universe inside.

Ben gagged after shot-gunning the scotch. He hiccupped and it came back up through his nose. He grabbed a napkin and caught most of a shot and a half of Whyte & MacKay as it poured out his nose.

It was in the good and strange middle spring and the rain kept announcing itself on the doorsteps and the railings of the town. As it bounced off of infrastructure and the top of eighteen wheeled trucks, rather than die little deaths, the drops found their way into the…

I had a dream about you once. I don't know if I told you about it already or not. (If I did, I apologize.) I'm never quite sure who you're writing about in some of your stories (maybe a composite of everyone?) but I did hold you one more time. In my dream

These are not the caffeinated men of barbaric lore.

The light they love to hate so much is always pulsating within each life; the unbelievable color sword of what happens next when any two people find each other in their hearts and all pretense is somehow gone, for at…

No, your clever costume won’t protect you.

From outside it looked abandoned. We lived at the top of a dead end hill. The grass was high and brown, the bricks in the driveway were crooked, caved in. The winter was mild; rotten crabapples, half-frozen, lined the end of the road. This was my house.

“After your death is confirmed,” I assured him, “a hardcover first edition of your books, will sell for millions at auction in New York.

Now that you can go to a body shop and get nearly any mod you can imagine printed and attached in about an hour, every cracker-ass redneck is sporting a twelve-point rack...

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.

He almost died, but hasn’t been this much alive ever.