I felt I should write a song To tell you what you meant to me Something I needed to find inside That surprised even me I was blinded by myself And couldn’t see that well What did I do to deserve you? I never knew I’d been through h

I thought I saw you once When you were still quite young Surveying great beauty Like a rain shower in the sun And I can still hear them nearby Those sharp voices of our youth Shouting with pleasure in the fields While looking at the sky

If you’re trying to carve wise sayings for eternity to read in a newly poured sidewalk you don’t want to be struggling for meaning while the cement is wet.

Crashing icons.

she's bent over and reaching into the oven to pour fat over a chicken. I just want to tug those pants down and thrust.

Highway Z's white lines turned to dots in the rearview mirror as the needle crept toward one hundred. Buco horsehide warded off the cool night air as the car raced over freshly paved blacktop. Al's smile was as loud as the coup's roar that shattered the calm…

In the mirror an owl staring you in the face once again,/a fraught fragment of life’s puzzle. But you pretend it’s. . . .

I stabbed a man at the Blue-Buick Bar and Grill. This may not be shocking news, all things considered. The man I stabbed didn't think it was all that shocking, even while it was happening. I'd had a lot of those energy drinks -- six or seven -- even before I'd puked…

Soon you too will lie down with the sleep of rain, grown old by having lived through your youth, that is all. Lying from the side of your mouth so often that you take up lying on your side, to try getting an eyeful of the often slandered truth rig

Talking about the event years later, all of the observers agreed to a surprising extent on God's details. God was not an old man with a beard, nor a halo of light, nor a burning bush. God was an absence, a disruption of vision. When you looked right at Go

When I come to we are by the lake

I remember sitting on the screened-in front porch of my house on Illinois Street that summer that we met. I had just come up from school at downstate Illinois. I remember eating a peach and listening to the sounds in my neighborhood, just listening. The

Best not look. But the children would.

I remember meeting this famous rock musician once, when I was in real estate. He could be such a jerk. It seems like the famous ones always are. He saw my friend Susan talking to herself in the kitchen at a party where we were. “That woman is never alon