The paper was strewn, everywhere.

I am the man who was fired from a thousand jobs I was the model you saw pointing at the gleaming red Maserati At the Miami Art Fair, as if you did not already see it I was the girl named Calorie in that infamous diet commercial I was the boy named

He was sitting in the library, slipping the pistachios nuts between his wet lips.

Later, at home, on the internet, I assemble fragments of street celebrations from cities one coast to the other. I watch them and listen in the compressed fidelity of computer speakers. How strangely things feel.

My mouth is orange rind and whiskey, my tongue a cocktail cherry.

I'd been sleeping on a couch. It was the couch of another artist, a friend, the kind of friend who makes you want to think in star patterns that dance across galaxies and warm distant life forms that are impossible to see. This friend made me feel more like…

The heart has always been on the sleeve Tonya really needed a heartShe was too young to knowNever forgetting itMichele found it in paradiseBut didn't know what to do with itWatched it fade awayBobbi could have easily had it foreverBut left it on the…

One of his big failings was getting pissed off about things behaving badly but not troubling to immediately fix them. He was working on being more prompt.

By the time the oceans rise/ enough for Kansans to care about,

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

Whenever I go shopping, I am trying my best not to be overwhelmed by an Andy Warhol experience. This is not like your typical Orwellian Big Brother experience, like when enormous Chairman Mao posters appear out of nowhere, keeping an eye

I woke up and rolled over to look at my clock. Realizing I was not in my bed, I looked around the dark room for any clock. There on the ceiling, the time was displayed in red digital numbers. 5:30 am. I stayed at a friend's…

I was meant to stroke, touch, handle the union of love, the egg, the ova with desire. Hurling the self forward so you could handle the semi-virgin loaf with your four flowered gloves, your soft kid gloves, and deprive the night, thank God, of its natural

"...regurgitating double A's all akimbo."

...Or perhaps it has; It depends which way you look at it. Perhaps the reader may cite laziness As my reason for not titling this Any other than I would have done As now, with such a title As it has, since for some reason I never…