...classic rock vibrating the walls...

Man on aisle nine looking for the answer to cancer Will the partially clothed couple on aisle four please put the rest of their clothing back on If you are finished doing whatever it was you were doing? Man on aisle five trying to imagine Whil

In the upstairs bedroom, the faucet runs wide open, overflowing the garden tub, shoving water to the white tile floor where she lays in a pool of blood. A white package of forty watt bulbs rests beside her sink. A three step ladder lays on its side. The…

That new rain smell in your backyard, specifically I remember that, with you. And lying in the grass in a park with you on the 4th of July, maybe in Lombard, watching the blue/grey smoke of the fireworks drifting overhead after they went off, and the sm

He didn't know why he kept writing. There was no reason to write. People ceased reading. They played video games. They watched Netflix. They walked down crowded city streets staring at smartphones. He was sustained in some weird way by the momentum of writing. As if the…

On the phone I asked my mother how she was doing. “I’m getting old,” she said. “Going slow. But getting there. I’m ninety-four!” My mother was always 94, when she was really 93. I remember she was 93, right after she turned 92. And 92 when she was

we went to together are now, according toyou, not to be believed. A memory of athought of a memory, of an arrow. There isno earth. There is no sun. There are no stars. All theplaces we went to together are to be paused,allowed to fade into never. The river is to be…

I wanted you in the worst way but that's not how I got you.

He is the kind of boy that is so handsome / you already expect there is something wrong with him

He leans back in the desk chair in his home office. He clicks on “Inbox” in his Gmail. He spins around in his chair. He clicks on “Inbox” again. As he spins again, he realizes how silly it is to keep clicking “Inbox” when Gmail…

The tongue touches the lip, looking inward, remembering. The head nodding yes. Staring directly at the memory like an animal, while the crowds pass by, and occasional phrases materialize out of the air. We live and love and create. Yes we do. Otherwise,

I remember this shot taken of you in a bright blue summer dress, with your arms spread out, leaning against a wood fence near the beach, or by Lincoln Park maybe, your thin body leaning back and long blonde hair down bare arms. Other men will remember h

She wondered why people would spend hard-earned money on a television when they could look up at the sky for free and trace the images that had inspired poets.

I wanted daddy to stop for ice cream, but I didn't want to say so. I wanted him to stop by himself, or because somebody else asked him. If I asked him Delia would make fun of me.

I don’t like telling stories. I’m far too honest and give far too many things away.