Fire.Orange.Fire.There were orange and red fires but for the most part they were orange.Before that, I was just standing there in the dark looking at the streetlights and then past them. I was gonna try to stare into infinity and had high hopes. Due to much cloud cover,…

I thought drowning you was the answer. I had barely opened my eyes as I leaned over the sink to brush my teeth, and you were poised near the drain, a furry brown spider, and the largest one I had ever seen up close. I was afraid to smash you, so I flooded you with…

alone and soaring in your eyesanother new journey for mebegins; my lifewants to make sense ofitself only for you, goingdeeper, hand youthe keys to that kingdom'srare maps and say,here,"fly, dream, fall to love'slake." You deserve it all.I swear…

Your begging hands are hacking me up again like garden claws that know not the difference between a delicate solar powered flower and a tightening choke of killing weeds.It's not like it's even mine to keep-- like a legal document I'd…

"The editors at Travel & Leisure are more interested in perks from advertisers than the survival of the human race.”

A boy sits in a room filled with old, broken toys. A mother is in the next room reading Cosmopolitan, dreaming of a life that should have been hers. There is the zoo and an unnecessary stroller on a very humid day, beads of sweat dripping slowly down a face. A trip to the…

But El Roy Never listen no so

I think I know these pigeons They were once beggars From another life Once I myself was stuck like them I was never Without the thought of food Or sex, or sipping soda pop Off the sidewalk And flying meant next to nothing But then

suck chew sip

pulling my bones apart, fingers are supernatural beings

And I'm usually soft-spoken.

My mother was a bluebird Who flew from tree to tree My father was a pilot Who flew right over me Her soul is still living There upon my tree My dad’s evaporated Right in front of me My brother’s soul has wandered Far away I see I

Bobby slowly raised his head above the emerald green stalks of rice and looked up and down the paddy for any sign of the men who had been crossing it with him, when the shell exploded. Movement out of the corner of his eye sent him face down in the muck a

I hold down the control-alt-delete keys simultaneously and the screen goes blank, sending Camus into a paroxysm of fear; for a guy who wrote an essay on facing down suicide, he’s kind of jumpy.

I saw an older writer in a slouched-down Fedora, gray beard and long scraggly gray ponytail, who had empty chairs pulled up all around him, at the Loser Café, maybe for his imaginary friends, or maybe those who were already gone.