We sat all in a muffledlittle line up, on theconcrete lips of tomorrow'ssleepy chin, like all the world's good little children should, as the paradelimped itself slowly by, slapping itself against the young day'sexcitement like a damaged flattire, trying its…

We were destined by chemistry and plastic figurines to give it a go.

Julius winced, knowing there was no way out. Amy showed him every worm, every insect, every dead mouse she’d found when they were in the fields. She pulled him forward, making his bruised shoulder burn.

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.

Poets who thrum jirble and thwack Poets who thrum eat quorn with raw swamms Poets who thrum are eristic (not shambolic) Poets who thrum deliciate unto kench when they freck

On their first meeting, when Hans rolled his wheelchair to her door she would be he first to say that her heart sank. But he was so beautiful and charming and funny and quirky that his disability was soon forgotten.

The day after falling in love, I became unmoored from everything familiar.

that moon does not think (unless mineral thoughts) . . .

I scowl at her through an opioid haze. "Armitage Shanks is my real name." The clerk snickers. "You mum must have really wanted you to be pissed on from cradle to grave, eh?"

She walked, thighs flaming fire-cold, without complaining or grumbling or cursing the goddamn Midwestern winters the way the others did.

Thanks to the popular funding platform Kickstarter, I am finally getting my life in order with the help of generous people like you. Dating in this economy, without a job, is surprisingly expensive.

"we are all headed to be forsaken by animal hearts a mountain of poor"

The boys finished their laps and returned to the center of the gym, Hamid shuffling up last, as usual. Amid the T-shirts and shorts, he wore faded blue slacks and a grubby, long sleeved dress shirt. He always dressed that way, even in gym class, as though

He grew red-faced at her quiet words, "I'm pregnant."

If the photographs made sounds, they would rumble like static from an impending thunderstorm, pressed between the pages of a yellowing dictionary. Compressed sound, searching for the proper words.