They shoot up through the soles of their feet once the veins in their arms are all used up. They shoot up in their necks like the cows on the African Savannah

...he had that same grin, better than a racy French picture.

“It's not him,” Kelly says. “I think it might be,” says her Mom. The three of us are sitting on the long sofa facing the wall which is one …

Next morning the thought crosses my mind of snapping Mom’s neck, making sure she’s dead, and then running down to the sea to drown myself.

for Tracy ThornYou don't need a song about fixed stars, you needa reason to be glad stars are here. Themoon's always been around, but not always like the friend you want,until now. Don't throw it all away becauseyou are too sad to care. You've come into your own. Allthings…

Paul and Mary Jo lived in an apartment at the top of a long, dark flight of stairs that were so high, I remember as if it were yesterday thinking, the night she pushed him down the stairs, he would surely be dead by the time he hit the landing at the…

Goodbye comes in stages. At first you recognize that you will “miss” someone when they are gone. Then you have to accept the fact that they are leaving. And finally accept the fact that they are gone; and not particularly in that order. If only it

Writers, in general, enjoy the solitude that their profession allows, or more precisely, requires. I consider myself a member of that generalized group, along with a more exclusive club of writers who also tolerate an occasional…

There it was One abandoned high heel shoe on the sidewalk Could have been Some kind of robbery Though Maybe it was just The beginning of the Walk of shame

Last week I heard that there is a new horror movie out about Abe Lincoln, with the plot of the film involving the tallest of presidents hunting down vampire bats with his axe while suspending habeas corpus, writing lame speeches about the freedom of man, restoring the…

The television was playing reruns of Mr. Ed, but it was hard to hear because of the flock of birds in the palm tree. I’d sometimes imagined the birds coming through the window, a swarming of pink cotton mouths, mawing everything in sight.

This time is different. The dream doesn’t continue with endless walking.

The fuckers tumble out of the bathroom like clowns from a tiny car. The girl has these huge tits and dark red hair. She rushes past me, smelling like chocolate. A guy's behind her, holding onto the back of her jeans. He's not good looking enough to…

Antique pens better allow an old soul to express what needs expressing.

"It all began with a painting," I said. "Mostly blue. Acrylic. Naturalistic in a modern sense. She was stylized but recognizable, and her breasts were exposed. Everyone could see her disordered skirt. The painter was a fan of Herrick.