1267 2 2
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Defenestration - the act of throwing someone out of a window.
I went to Prague recently to visit my family’s castle, which is called Krivoklat. I’m not even going to attempt to explain to you how to pronounce that. It’s outside Prague, about an hour t
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126710
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There's one graveyard for the part-timers and another for the full-timers. Ours is a little nicer, but we're still all going to hell. Do you remember St. Petersburg? No, you're memory's not that good.
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126711
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Remain in repose, a little longer.
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126700
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Joan's biospy showed the cancer had come back. Instead of preparing herself for chemo, she booked us plane tickets to the Galapagos. “Death can wait another ten days,” she said.
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126722
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It didn't matter if they burned or not.
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126744
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I heard the patron yelling,
“Hey, man! That’s my cappuccino!”
when the young female snatched it and got away.
But the police cornered her a few blocks away,
licking the last bits of foam off her wiley whiskers.
That’s how they knew they had
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126722
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Momma wakes us up early while Daddy's still asleep, pulls out white poster boards, markers from the closet, and together, we draw babies...
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126720
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During the night and in the fog of halfsleep Ben shifted and felt the weight of Miranda gone from him, the bed empty. In the quiet of the house he thought he heard a footstep and the soft shutting of a door, and as his eyes searched the dark he…
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126785
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I was so high on the not knowing, I thought, you will love me for my confusion. And so I allowed myself to reach further inward than either of us felt comfortable. I imagined a delicious vanilla pudding at the core of my exploration, sweet and satisfying enough for me to…
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126742
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Im in bed.
Bed.
I look at the word bed written on the screen.
Bed.
It looks like bad but not quite.
Bed-Bad.
Bad-Bed.
I have a bad bed. Lets say my bed is bad.
It is a bed to the extent that it is bad. It is not good, it is bad. It is a bad bed.
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126663
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Memory is unreliable, of course-/
re-coloring savored scenes-/
paler here, more saturated there-
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126622
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On the days I wasn’t there, my insides felt like paper-mâché.
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126642
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After it is over, I go out into the world, to the café. The flower sellers are setting up their booth outside the glass doors. Classical guitar over the speakers. A soft rain falling. Heads bowed, reading the news. Coffee, croissants, cappuccino. This g
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126642
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Most of the deer around here have a higher IQ than the hunters.
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126611
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god's seed is asleep in the carseat
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126621
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The Fat Man took a sip of whiskey, then replaced his glass on the table next to his fedora. …
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126622
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I wonder what it would be like to dog-paddle in the middle of the ocean.
I wonder how Jean Auguste Ingres got the flesh tones for “Odalisque.”
I wonder if bees have dreams.
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126675
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One day, Dasha confessed to Igor that she had an incurable illness: Purple emptiness.
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126510
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They say that air traffic control is stressful work and I guess it is for some people. It did require a lot of concentration but that never bothered me much. I could keep the position, bearing and altitude of a couple of dozen aircraft in my head without
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126521
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Ben left the airport and headed toward downtown Nice, his stomach was in a knot.
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126544
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when I take the time/now to remember/
you have become/a thousand page/memory book
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126587
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Even among the thousands of black cats/
in the world, though, he would nonetheless/
be my favorite with those impurities of light brown tufts
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126541
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I know what to expect because this has happened before. The darkness, the stench of an unlit match, The leathery sound of old wings flapping and finally that voice made up of feces and dust, ancient and terrible suggesting depravity and painful deaths t
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126500
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an island hidden in the sound holds treasure
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126544
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I will always remember that
picture of you in your
bright blue summer dress,
with your arms spread out
against a wooden fence in
Central Park.
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126544
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They pull up to the curbside and he jumps out
to shake the hands in that familiar men’s
grasp/shake they do when saluting each other.
If that isn’t his daughter it should be, the one
sitting in his car, with her door wide open.
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126533
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Getting up and reading his poem
The stuffy poet sitting back down
On the leather couch, which creaks under his weight
After adjusting his narrow tie from the 1980’s
The stuffy poet clearing his throat, twice,
During an enemy’s reading
The s
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126564
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It was an autumn day, late in the afternoon, a Tuesday, when the last murderer died. There was no official announcement. Indeed, she and her crime had been forgotten. Pancreatitis, her cause of death. Quite treatable, the cancer. Nothing could be done for the gene that…
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126540
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We construct what we want, from what has failed in the past. We thought this worked. The picture was buzzing for me and I tried to hold on. I went blindly forward.
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126585
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Mom would dig through one of her music boxes to pick out Saturday morning's cleaning jams. Tattered, battered Payless shoeboxes with lids ripped to shit, filled to capacity with piles of cassettes; greatest hits albums, mostly, or Time Life compilations of mid-to-late…
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