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Beach Tale

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I should have worn shorts.

traffic incident

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and i start screaming. i check the damage in my rearview mirror but there's nothing.

Metafictionaut

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I'm available most weekends.

Classic

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"I love you.”“Night.”Back at the screen door she answers “What?” I stand under her nose and say “Box is out of juice.” Inside she sits me on the black and white polka-dotted sofa we make love around here and there.…

gravelortian part 24

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Outside cool fresh morning tiny fingers

Delicate

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I'm not plagued with high levels. Must be all the raking I do. My pubes look as lush as my hair, so fire isn't even a concern. Maybe heat exhaustion is.This might be a poem,My oceans aren't small.

The Young Hate the Old

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The old hate the young. Robe exposed monks do not Hate mosquitoes. It is one. It is one hand. It is on. Mountains don't hate sky. The rich hate the poor. The poor hate the rich. The parade of scholars hate the …

Everyman's Armful

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She was, they said, everyman’s armful; Bedding down with her was most likely harmful.

Luhvvz Lang-widge

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Th heeet frum mye skin on ers wus mehsidge eenuff.

extinguished

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The silence grew louder as it grew longer.

That Spark

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these fleeting moments of insanity.

The Mother Kidnappers

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We kidnap mothers of all sorts: old mothers, single mothers, young mothers (rarely), but we never do it for ransom. As a society we are adamantly opposed to the use of violence. Our mission is to remove mothers from environments they are not appreciated in, whether by their…

Owen's Song

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"I hate people"

New Moon, Old Moon

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The moon once rose on its own Now it takes a series of Ropes and pulleys to get it up Because it’s so old And you can hear these audible groans Coming from its craters As it’s forced to listen to forgotten lovers Obsessing over old lov

Parable of the Parabola

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I held the steam and scrubbed it. How do you do that? asked Willy. How do you scrub steam? It is so, you know, diaphanous. I said to Willy, because Willy was a good man and listened with both ears, we adapt to the heart's convulsions. I send my grammar to a…

Class

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Before they ever spoke, Linda and Meg had sat next to each other in the cramped lecture hall for three weeks, their thighs touching, while Dr. Laurens showed slides of ancient Japanese art. Meg's eyes never left the screen, but Linda glanced at her as often as she…

Wind Calling

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Listening to old friends speak the same way, the same things tells me they have been dead a long time. They are in their form of living, their self, there is no new season of growth. I witness each of them continue on the same path because it is familiar

Thoughts After Arriving Home from the Cafe Havana

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If someone told me like people do / that I am a good person / I will never believe them / mostly because I own a mirror / but also because I have lived with myself / for the rest of my life

Waterstones and The Fridge

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I try to slot into order the sequence of events: the book deal that appeared and then winked away like a dying star, the white gloves and the brick through Waterstone's window; my novel lying in the shop front in a bed of glass.

Corporal punishment

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We huddle behind the bedroom door and hear the swish of dad's belt as he yanks it from the pant loops, our backsides clenched.

Night Terror

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A door in the hallway, with 30E in brass letters glinting dully on its polished surface, lying sideways on the floor like a beacon.

The Jewelry of Yaks

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It’s too early in the morning to play the glockenspiel. I’ll just sit here and knit this tiger.

***Breaking News!***

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FedEx merges with UPS becoming FedUp

Things I Like To Do When I Don't Feel Like Doing Anything

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Run up and down the hill shouting Hollywood! Hollywood! Hollywood! Order a penis size enhancer for everyone in the neighborhood. Invent theorems for the unrivalled glory of eggnog. Get drunk on utter futility. Pack my favorite suitcase with tree bark…

Regrets du Noir

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You want to be Teilhard de Chardin? You’re getting started way too late. There’s a better chance you’ll be tomorrow’s Peking Man if I bury you in the cellar.

Wildfire

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Those resting in clusters of bones, Cradled in ashes of what once were homes.

Requiem for a Laptop

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I don’t understand what happened. I keep pushing your buttons but you won’t do anything. You just lie there, cold and dead, staring back at me without any light and I feel like I’m going to cry.

Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?

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Marcel Proust had never been to a big-box store before. He was dazzled by the sheer size and scope of the store and the seeming impassivity of the shoppers. So many products, so many shelves, such strangely intriguing examples of the human condition. The people seemed…

2-D CUCKOLDS IN TV SOAPS

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Tread acres and acres of aches

Treasured Souls

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Oh, but we have lost-- such treasured souls, at immeasurable costs. Oh, but we do moan and cry-- such treasured souls, no tangible, useable reasons why. Oh, but we whose hearts do bleed-- such treasured souls, we…