“This is when things pick up with the ‘stuffies,’” says Sergeant Jim Hampy of the Vice Squad. “They lie low during the summer, then come back when cold and flu season starts.”

First they Dust off the bottom of the sky But then the clock gets stuck At 3 seconds till uncertainty Then they Dye the sunset clouds To make them more Transparent So as not to confuse The human mind With the stuff of uncommon Nostalgia

Another hard week tired but make the effort

In an area of high winds and strong convictions, I have lived among the ever-changing crowd that is always the same. I must have died overnight, and now my wings are flapping in my own face. I used to be an owl, a night owl, to be sure

It seems a little solipsistic/ but may indeed be evidence of God// given its mystery and caprice.

It was Christmas Eve. Time for the ghost to visit. Just one ghost in this story. The ghost of a Christmas past. Just one Christmas for just one ghost.He looked out the window. Under the distant streetlight the snow was falling. He turned on his porch light. …

She's a woman who travels often. Maybe for work. Maybe for mischief. She's a "free spirit" trapped by her desire for love. But she numbs it with the warmth of a new man's touch. She leaves herself reminders that often fail her or remain inconsistent. She wants to…

I would use your towel,

Driving alone again across the U.S. I thought back on my first relationship. As I sd to my girlfriend, because I was always talking, Lynda, I sd, which was not her name, the darkness surrounds us, what can we do against it? Or

my heartis a brokenstandpipefanningcity water cayenneacross sidewalksgutters ripple redover fast food bagsand cigarette buttsover the feetof priests and pit bullsover the handsof drunksand babiesand into the mouthsof ratsand raconteurs you never oughtadrink…

None of them knew the emptiness my bravado covered. I moved through life a pale shadow of a being. In the mornings I was afraid when I went into the bathroom to gaze into the mirror I would find no reflection staring back at me, that I had finally become

I’m living at the Edge of Graffiti And yet I still survive Because I walked across the line Separating me from the rest of mankind You can see me out here I’m in so much pain All that’s written on my face I think it’s pretty plain

peripheral dreams fall out from the head / the body squirms then burrows abed: / “have you had a good life? you now have less! / —led a hard life instead? you soon will be gone!”

From 'Excelsior' (fifth section) - a poem in 9 parts. So this is what begins at thirty? Thirty-five, And waiting. Those make love with water mildly, they That sink and skim the tide's meridian fingers: Brown swans that bob the blue orb's plumbing sheer. So this has…

Amir was a ghost, and he was terrible at it. No one had taught him how to be a ghost. There was no orientation, no welcome packet, no handbook. Ghosts started in limbo with only a name, and nothing else.