. . . he's of mixed race. Along with European blood, he's got Mexican Indian and African blood. Here's the irony. He don't look nothing like a white European man but he thinks like one.

Where the Story LiesEverybody wants to knowwhere the story lies. Does itlie in childhood? Does it liein old age? Does it lie in anangry outburst or a stingingrebuke? Does it lie in a momentof compassion or in the recognitionof calloused selfishness? Bruisedlove or…

I’d met this crowd of drunken poets from San Francisco Even though this was smack dab in the middle of winter Smack dab in the middle of the flattened Illinois plains Why they all left San Francisco I’ll never completely understand But there we we

Time is a form of sandwich. Each component of the sandwich is nestled between night and day, which enclose it like slices of bread. There are minutes, hours, and seconds. Seconds are tiny, like sesame seeds. Minutes are a little larger. Think of them as p

“This isn’t fair!” I rail to my late wife. “It’s all right for you, why not me?” She never answers me directly. Not in whispers, or with knocks, or even dreams.

The coach told the player, number 21, to stand in front of the net in order to distract the opposing team's goaltender and to block the view, to 'screen' him as it were. 21 did so, and did it well. There were defensemen that gave him much trouble by hitting his legs and…

you stand ashore

The way I figure it, mom wasn't worth a shit. I'd cry when she hit me but she'd just keep pounding. When I was seven, she burned a hole in my back. It happened one day at the fair. We were walking around. She didn't have any money so all we could do was walk. I had…

Tom wasn’t crying. A few snowflakes, the first of the season, flittered down and landed on Elizabeth’s new headstone, christening it. Tom didn’t have his topcoat, and he never buttoned his suit. He tried not to shiver. Lynn lifted her face from Tom’s c

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…

She felt the ants crawling across her arms, felt them digging into her flesh. The needle was still attached to her flesh, bruises lined along the stretch of skin. Her body convulsed until she slipped into slumber. The following morning she could no longer continue her self…

his eyes see blood as circumstance.

VIII. Towards Affinities, Beyond My love, since I saw you last, since before we reached the chamber, I cannot count the quasars which have passed, but there still gleams Time, Like a memory of a lost event unwitnessed, and this illusion Carried…

I hope my blonde down still beats in your heart, and the black crescent curved under, you will remember, and I would move toward your window where my own heart lay in a dish, with the thick valley lifting. Remember, I crossed and uncrossed my legs f

But if He makes you happy, stands/ as bulwark against the vast, indifferent/ and deadly universe, then cling to Him