Ham If you have never cooked a ham steak, you need not be afraid. The ham is often cut so thin that to over or undercook it is nearly impossible. The exterior reflects the centre better than any other meat; you will know when to stop.

"The truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.'--Nadine Gordimer Other things do matter just as much of course. Of course they do. Hey I'm still kind of alive inside this poem here. At least I'd like to think so, so yes another…

That’s how I’d met him really: drinking games. We’d both been at the local watering hole, challenging the other patrons to drunken games of chance and making a clean sweep of it. A few guys figured themselves for alpha dogs had Teqs cornered after he’d ta

Where was she exactly? There is, of course, no answer to this question. But that didn't stop me from asking it. Constantly. Obsessively.

“How much is stuff worth? Stuff man! Bling! Cargo! STUFF! What's it worth to you? It ain't worth a shit, man! Clean clothes! Comfortable shoes! A ride! Those things are important! But they’re only stuff.

We are the generation who tattoo our stories on our bodies, who pierce what appears impenetrable; we fly our scars like pennants.

"For God's sake," my mother said. "There could be anthrax in the candy." My mother worried about me going out on Halloween.

I do not trust Shay anymore.

still the water's insurrection continues, transforming the room into a silent crucible whose pure liquid melts our voices and surges above our heads.

You can't always get what you want, and fortunately, that's sometimes a good thing.

Voltaire drinks his coffee standing up in front of the microwave and he likes to hold one hand on his chest where his heart is while he drinks. He likes to feel his heartbeat quicken and then he imagines that he is a machine or something mechanical.

We made our escape on grimy streets under skies filled with crows, flapping like litter in the wind.

The first morning we met—I remember the rain, soft the way I like it—was a series she later attributed as a fourteen-frame sunrise.

She sits at home, on the floor of the kitchen, bathing her stuffed animals in molasses to match the ones on the news.

I was having festive sex flashbacks and wasn't thinking sharply.