There is a dead factory. It sits on the tip of a small piece of land which extends into a forgotten lake, like a giant dirty-inked thumb pressed against a faded blue sheet of paper.

I told him that the beehive he had for a brain was overpopulated and that he couldn’t seem to go for one minute without desperately thinking that I was going to leave him when I’m sure I gave him no evidence to that effect at all

So, before he could brew with the crew, God decided to make one last trip to Earth, drawn by nostalgia and the prospect of watching a football World Cup from the stands. That is where He met Mini.

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.

We write in darkness. We love in alleys. We breathe into beige paper bags. Anything to mollify the confusion. Anything to simplify the math.

We light cigarettes, take turns putting them out on each other's arms, legs, anywhere hard without a mark. It's living, he says, it's better to know you're alive than feel nothing at all. My brother is two years older than you, I was thinking on Tuesday,…

until i french kiss every atmosphere my mouth ready to explode like roman candles sparking my fingers sparking off the tips of my sparking fingers

My accordion's name is Sophia and she is from Italy. She was born in fairytale fashion, the way my life in Madrid can sometimes be. A great and nurturing friend gathered money from many friends in our village, to buy me an accordion for my birthday. It was…

Vladimir walked down the little path next to the creek with us. I stopped along the way and picked off a sliver of some of the bedrock that was sticking out alongside the narrow path, to take home with me as a souvenir of my family castle, just to be ab

He said, “It was only after I broke my neck and even like maybe a year later that I really started realizing that I had something to say.”

Sometimes the beauty you make wants you to say, aaahhh, and let it go. There are a lot of things floating around, so it's no wonder that some things get sadly lost, like minds,like people, like feelings. It doesn't make anything spin any less. That's what…

When winter comes again…

The white and yellow are sublime and desperately powerful, like angry screaming over tears and through laughter or hatred. Maybe the words are about crying or laughing, but the expressions are altogether impenetrable and distant. The jokes told behind the teeth and through…

each vertebra is a golden cavalier, brave in upright vigilance; stoic heroes.

Lela, my grandmother.