Your wandering kisses entered my soul Then my flesh, then my holes You filled them all Like a Norwegian hall Like a Swedish sailor Drunk with ale You fell inside me And you’re falling still It was a thrill I can’t sit still I got a chi

Near Christmas in Chicago they used to have these pictures of a five dollar bill on billboards all around the city, with the caption: Take Abe to Mass. On the front steps before going into the church, we encountered a ver

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

When my brother returned from his appointment with this eerie investor fellow in the silent Rolls Royce Silver Arrow, he appeared in my room in dark blue sweats with a broad white stripe, and he herded me into the living room where everybody including F

It must have been twenty years before I first heard Willie Nelson’s voice without the accompaniment of my mother’s crying. She liked to listen to country music on the radio while she cleaned dishes, ironed shirts, watered plants, and whatever else the hou

to accomodate my 250 lb. dog

Forget the past, its heavy arms sunken at last into the waters of the underworld, crushed and oppressed. Its murders, its slaughter, its laws. Killed there, sacrificed, assassinated. All dust, every powder that is the father of history. Knees that h

On My Honor

Warren Jeffries left this girlfriend of his named Karen, who was also a poet, and overnight she announced she’d gone back to being a lesbian, she’d so had it with MEN! She did a reading of her new series of Sappho poems at Cody’s Bookstore, and it was at

The phenomena of this water formed the first definite link in that vast chain of apparent miracles with which I was destined to be at length encircled.

To answer your question, “Do you think you left your soul there?”… No, my soul isn’t floating around in your bedroom anymore… you took it with you when you walked out my door for the last time. Well, maybe there’s still just a little

no matter where we sit or how we stare— / all parades now march away to one day.

TW: Self-harm. I wanted to write a mental health essay that wasn't all rah! rah! and with as little sentimentality as possible. Out of everything I've published, I've gotten the most feedback from this--people telling me it helped them understand a loved one better, etc.…

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

Down the concrete stairs I slinked, past some fur coat wearing tosser and his braying equine girlthing, and pushed my way into the eardrum puncturing furnace of the place.