2025 21 11
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“When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”
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20241516
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When Carlotta left me, I cried / into my soup. I shriveled into / harsh mathematics.
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202430
|
They always referred to her as the possum woman back home. She scoured the streets just as the sun fell into deep slumber behind the sentinel, sun tanned shoulders of the mountains encircling small town anywhere.
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20242012
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...I pray for the animal souls I have taken -- panther, gazelle, hyena, vulture...
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20242711
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As soon as she left, I sat down at the computer. Booted up. Read my e-mail, then looked at pictures of bare-naked ladies.
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202286
|
Shakespeare was Shakespeare, after all, the greatest poet the language has ever boasted: why did Shakespeare’s contemporaries even bother with their paltry efforts?
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20221613
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1. Everyone disappears.2. Stars map themselves.3. The moon fills her bathtub over and over. You can't watch it for too long or you go mad, shouting, "Just get in, get in!"4. The ghosts of certain broken poets stand under apple trees and lean their hands on the…
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202252
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He stands. Shoes for dashing, and he could dash, if the audience would stand for it, through one of two exits, beneath one of three wreaths. This year, the year of the Millennium, the wreaths seem dark and Germanic. The stage seems like a Great Hall set for a solitary…
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2021203
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“This is the most dangerous road in the world and you want to drive down it. You crazy,” he said.
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2020239
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"Bit of a shrinkage situation."
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202043
|
Rudely awakened, confused and bewildered, he stood stone silent and watched me flee. I barely managed to keep my wits together, didn't and couldn't pretend that I wasn't running out of his bedroom as if my life depended on it. He wouldn't call me a cab,
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202000
|
Was Sligo an unfeeling privacy-violator or an uncannily-feeling empath, privy to the deepest longings of those whose lives he came in contact with? [...] Sligo's grave is as silent as these pages ultimately would be if they were left unread.
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201983
|
Figures are a strip tease.
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2019117
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"They called him a syllannibal: a person who eats his own words. The only words he ever ate, however, were the ones he had written."
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20195619
|
An ice block heart
rushed home to the beat of its melt.
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201900
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She's a nurse, plugging leaks, postponing via triage. I'm an engineer, watching essential systems shut down as my body buys extra minutes.
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201972
|
I pass the Grief Benches on my way to work. No one is on them today. Last night I saw a couple there, him wet eyed and her with her head down. She scrunched her eyes tight as I passed and I remember thinking she was a fraud. It's alright if you don't want
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201832
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The dismantled moon was not cold in our hands, but warm, smooth beneath its shell as baby flesh. The musk of its damp, stringy innards filled us with sorrow.
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20172718
|
his dreams are filled / with aprons
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201700
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That I own one of the world's largest collections of occult references, including a clutch of rare and ancient grimoires, ought to suggest I'd have been prepared for the shock. But nothing in my studies left me meaningfully prepared. . .
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20171513
|
I ask because she's the animal person, not me. She understands animal behavior.
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201700
|
I had a weird feeling I had just validated his behavior — provided another tile in the mosaic of his ego and self-esteem — by doing nothing more than entering this hall of mirrors, and reflecting.
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2016189
|
Jesus will walk on the water.
Judas will walk on a technicality.
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201677
|
One of the pieces, I noticed, had the real shape of a miniature chicken, its mohawk, pin legs, and small definition of wing. “Look at that,” I said to my friend. And just then, the wing twitched.
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201688
|
They were a family, now, these three: child, widow, widower.
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20162513
|
I was sitting on the therapist’s couch in someone else’s boxer shorts.
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20152620
|
He boarded the wrong plane. (Hey, it could happen. Maybe not after 9/11, but certainly before)
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201533
|
I got your card in the mail via my ex-wife in Saskatoon. On it you wonder where I am, if I am still writing, and if I have any stories I would send for you to look at because you think I should be published, too.
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201594
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I was a gangly 11 years old, a year before the Watergate hearings pre-empted the afternoon cartoons on television, when I discovered an uncle's girlie magazine during routine reconnaissance of my grandmother's hall closet.
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20153514
|
AFTER DINNER Another cycle gone, wasted. She stares into her bowl of full-fat ice cream (just half a cup a day, every day, for fertility). Beside her sits her husband, building a sundae. When he's done she reaches over, picks the cherry off the top, and hurls it into the…
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