Besotted by an overload of scotch, Ben’s brain barely alerted him to loud knocking at his door.

the wiggly word / floats toward the crowd

We came wind-milling together ,up and over the blue and yellow stone bluffs, like a couple of empty yet racing nowhere fast plastic grocery bags, catching onto everything and anything in our way, and desperately trying to get free again,…

Off of the northeastern coastline there was a series of islands that won bread and butter through fishing. We walked off the ferry and through various docks while noticing vessels come in slowly boasting sides protected by worn plastic fenders on ropes affixed to…

There it it again, that noise. That low hum that I know so well now, spinning, gaining momentum in my head, like a cyclist in a velodrome, until its steadiness and roundness becomes sharp, painful, cutting like glass.

We had sex, but hadn’t established a strong relationship. We liked each other as more than friends, but I was worried that Claudia was acting as a honey trap and spying on me for Dan Arris.

There is no need to worry about art. Art in its ideal forms stays safe. Real art resists being the object of attention. It directs your gaze, and it swings in you forever.

As soon as he neared his neighborhood newsstand, handed over the exact change and had The New York Times in his hand, Irving switched from feeling he had no choices, to feeling he had a future.

There was the small wooden structure near the base of the mountain. It had weathered many storms and its walls talked about the scars of this. In the hills to the west various cries came out from feral animals that seemed to go linger that autumn. But it had been a…

I learned He was a Schmuck when, on/ the mountaintop, with Abraham,/ I waited on His call: one Isaac, neat.

The racket of me left this morning

SoCo, Burnette's, Grey Goose, Bacardi. The good stuff. We drank Bill’s stuff because his parents were lawyers and loved to drink too. We just drank when everyone was asleep. Sometimes we’d invite our friends, or girls—but mostly it was just us. You could

Dissonance is indispensable Observes Marcel Proust in a rowboat I hold in my hand a fire

I am seven and it is in one of those spring stretches where temperatures proceed enough to make walking acceptable if not amicable. Pop cans and chip bags once boasting glossy surfaces and daring hues now faded to match asphalt fields. Other bits of things…

But all I see, the only irresolute shape in my mind that forms and becomes real, is you.