You make a mental note of the rising number of people that know you. You vow to trim the list.

He ran over our elderly neighbor Lenard, but not on purpose, or at least not as far as we could tell; there wasn't any yelling, I mean, and he didn't look happy when he got out of the car, though who could really tell through a bear costume.

Six clocks are brought to a tool shed, behind the house (three black, two white, and one red.)

Back when I was fifteen, Svengal, Mohammed and I used to scamper up to the roof of our sixteen story apartment building and use it as our Masturbatory. We called it that because it served as a sort of observatory where we could diligently perform our rece

Next, through my grad student apartment at Verano Place, came Beth. Big tits you could suck on all night long, just don’t touch Pussy. Beth held me all night one night when I was totally freaking out after smoking what I thought was normal dope at a poetr

Mother still calls pomegranates “Chinese apples,” much to my embarrassment.

... must we turn again (and again)/ to an orchestra stripped of wind and drum?

If there had been arranged marriage in eighth grade, the grade it used to be and still sometimes is when children left school to work in the fields, I would have hoped that my parents would have arranged for me to marry Mike.

I cannot regain my balance

Romper Room with Beer We go out for a thin New York Pizza at Lanesplitter’s over on Telegraph and watch the drunks staggering out of the bar across the street to have a smoke on the sidewalk, since you can’t smoke inside bars anymore. They ga

They would ride with a mechanic synchronicity, like schools of robotic fish, and appear and disappear suddenly, never still, never trapped in traffic snarls, always finding a way through the gridlocks and the side streets.

She’s waving, Hey, I’m home! Like nothing’s happened. Like weeks haven’t passed since she left.

Somebody pushed the automatic fuck-you button today, not the due-to-the-volume-of-submissions-we-receive button, nor the it-does-not-fit-our-editorial-needs button;

But although her culinary plans are running smoothly, my mother’s mood is lethal. Look closely and you can see thin plumes of smoke escaping from her mouth and the tips of two horns peeping between the rollers on top of her head. This is not uncommon for

He was on his way home from school on a dank winter afternoon when the attack came from nowhere, launched like a missile across the Gaza Strip. Suddenly he lay on his back with Jonathan Love pounding him in the face.