It was in the last expulsion/explosion (theories differ) that we became OneWith. Tsunami. Seism. Zud. All matter cast out outcast came back like a gangster on crack. What did it think it was? Who do we think we are? It thinks we think it thinks…

rinse plate cup glass spoon bowl soapy water

Sometimes your Monday morning answer to the inevitable questions don't have to be so mundane and repetitive. And sometimes they do. No one gives a shit anyway.

I am naked in an upright glass box with water running through my hair and over my skin. I am in there when the old man who invited himself into our house for six long months (because no one had the nerve to tell him to leave) opens a door and stands…

At the Rest Home for Silence We are teenagers At best I have to admit I fell asleep on the bus On the way to the Rest Home For Silence And I woke up To the noise Coming from the Overfilled silence It's the overfilled silenc

irretrievably we tell ourselves stories irretrievably as beaded water slides off our skin

"..sneezing repeatedly into an obviously saturated cocktail napkin,.."

Cody had a face, a still and shivering dark basement of a face, one with a negative intake that seemed like it was leaning at a downward angle, as if falling off of itself, or committing suicide, jumping off the edge of the world and leaving behind the su

When I was 14 I accidentally heard a woman saying behind my back

Italian authorities seized $1.9 billion in "green" investments made by La Cosa Nostra to launder money. Reuters

He stood in the doorway of his mother's house. The doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen. Out of habit, he picked at the wallpaper. He had done this for years as a kid. Anytime a corner pulled up, he started tugging. Just a…

A man alone in his paid-for living room, with his hands folded behind his head. A man running from a bar, a bald man seen from behind. Someone who made a wide circle to avoid your laughter. A man undressing at the side of the road saying: “How y

You could call it love.

Dream, swan, dream of your woman, whenever you get hold of her. Problem after problem lets up under the grip you have. And conquest without plan is what you’ve added to the world. So, share your songs under wild silk, won’t you? I remember there was hel

This is not her death. This is absent-minded omniscience. This is impossible. And then again, the inside-out, implosion. And the hall was clogged with bodies; none of them hers, but who could be sure?