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Tobacco

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When you prime tobacco the old way . . .

This isn’t Silverlake anymore

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I hear the slightly scratched voice of Joan Baez coming from the record player singing about the junipers in the pale moonlight, applause erupting like hailstone on a corrugated iron roof. I am singing back through the bedroom wall, wishing the

Warning: Literary Fiction: The One-Dollar Minister

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It was Warren who introduced me to this bouncer fellow named John O’Toole. Warren met O’Toole and his wife, Angelina, through the dark prison poet Eugene Forcer. Forcer and O’Toole were the best of friends until a riff erupted between them one drunken n

Turtles Don't Have Hair

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“You’ll have to do better than that,” Skip says. My husband laughs. He has a high girlish chuckle when he’s truly delighted. He can sing really high like a girl, too. “All right,” I say. I leave my headband

The World's Loneliest Girl

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Turns out it was you. But. You made it into the latest dumping ground in spite of their voted insults. In spite of being told you weren't even going to be around to be danced with. The loneliest girl now looks perfectly trim and trendy to all eyes.…

my father's fear

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my father has a phobia of dentists./ he also once felt/ that if the house ran out of toilet paper/ he would lose his job.

Death Hitches a Ride

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We passed a dead cat lying up against a guard rail, its fur stringing and wet and exposing its bloated skin which had a purple tint to it. Not my work, Death said, smoke trickling out of one eye socket.

Stretch Marks

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Stretch marks part my heart, stretch marks part my body.

Why I Don't Write Sex Scenes Anymore

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I’ve had my face talked off by those types (and I’m sure you’ve met a few) who need to say and hear “special” words, and they go "unh-hunh, unh-hunh, o yeah, o yeah, unh hunh."

Blues Machine

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Rockin' Joe Heath stumbled into the stairwell in nothing but a black Zildjian t-shirt, shushing himself, trying to see right, pounding head. He recalled the old lily pattern of the wall­paper and something about the tattered edges…

Abu Arif & His Daughters

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I cannot remember what the celebration was for, but the baby was at its center. We passed him around, a sweet smiling boy about seven months old. The age when babies can sit but can't yet crawl and their thighs get plump.

Dig

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Every morning, the children dig holes for their parents. This is both necessary and beneficial: the kids need to dig and the parents have to be buried.

Arcana Magi - c.13: Along the Way

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The Sentinels flew low and through the woods. Carefully navigating their way around the trees, they heard the sound of birds chirping and frogs croaking in the morning.

Life as a Porno

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It could as well be late night infomercials/ saturating the screen// with medieval looking exercise machines

What I wanted in 1981

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i stained his hockey sheets right over the red wings

over me

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What you may see initially could be only half the poem. The rest is hidden.

The Fallen Oak

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Jonas Griffin stared out the bay window as he drank his morning cup, his eyes gleaming with something between wistfulness and disdain at Reynold who sat patiently in the adjacent yard, leaning against the majestic oak tree that towered in its hundred year

Winter Blues

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He told me he could feel an army of tears building up behind his eyes.

Blacktop

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Infrastructure...

A Good Wife

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"How did you know he was a nobody if you didn't look at him, eh? Did you raise your eyes and look him in the face? Are you my wife or a whore?"

Just a Joke

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The pizza was perfect, ingredients genuine, not artificial: crust charred slightly; cheese gooey; sauce steaming, requiring careful eating lest the mouth suffer burns. Such quality was becoming rare around town. The product in Manhattan, by and large,

That One Time We Were on NPR...

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Twelve people in the band, the two women arrive first (arrive on time).

Pentagon City

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I had been in bed for a couple of days and by this I mean sleeping for fifteen or sixteen hours at a time. I don’t think that I believed in God anymore. I no longer knew how to stay awake.

What the Dark Matter Says

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There can be no convergence./ There is only the talking that talks about/ an angle of sight nothing else can share.

In My Father’s House There Are Many Murders

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My father said that he had been ready for that journey for many days past and that he had asked often for the spirits to come and take him. He prayed to the god of the heavens and to the earth mother. He prayed for the three of us, and he prayed for the s

Hail Mary Pass

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so for penance, the priest gave me the full twelve Stations of the Cross

A Traitor of the Better Kind

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Go ahead, boy, pout like a fool.

Blinding Light

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Snow sheeted on the river...

October

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It's Halloween again, the season when my mother died.

Berniece

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"I expect 50% of the agreed fee. In cash.” I dropped the envelope at the designated spot and parked up the street.